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They  pursued  their  journey  hand  in  hand 
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THE  CLOISTER  AND 
THE  HEARTH 

A  TALE  OF  THE  MIDDLE  AGES 

VOLUME  II 

THE 

AUTOBIOGRAPHY 
OF  A  THIEF 

BY 

CHARLES  READE,  D.  C.  L. 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 
COLONIAL  PRESS  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE 
HEARTH 


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LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH 
Vol.  II. 

PAGE 

They  pursued  their  journey  hand  in  hand  .  Frontispiece 
Church  of  St.  Mark  97 

A  STRANGE  CONTRAST,  AND  WORTH  A  PAINTER'S  WHILE     .  104 

Held  his  crucifix  towering  over  her  ....  313 
"Madam,"  said  Giles,  "  see  you  yon  blind  Samson?  "  368 

AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF 
Revealed  himself  to  me  as  my  father  .     .     .     •  6 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES 
On  we  marched,  the  best  of  friends    ....  95 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH 


CHAPTER  I. 

Among  strangers  Margaret  Brandt  was  comparatively 
happy.  And  soon  a  new  and  unexpected  cause  of  content 
arose.  A  civic  dignitary  being  ill,  and  fanciful  in  pro- 
portion, went  from  doctor  to  doctor ;  and,  having  arrived 
at  death's  door,  sent  for  Peter.  Peter  found  him  bled 
and  purged  to  nothing.  He  flung  a  battalion  of  bottles 
out  of  window,  and  left  it  open ;  beat  up  yolks  of  eggs 
in  neat  Schiedam,  and  administered  it  in  small  doses : 
followed  this  up  by  meat  stewed  in  red  wine  and  water, 
♦shredding  into  both  mild  febrifugal  herbs,  that  did  no 
harm.  Finally,  his  patient  got  about  again,  looking 
something  between  a  man  and  a  pillow-case,  and,  being 
a  voluble  dignitary,  spread  Peter's  fame  in  every  street ; 
and  that  artist,  who  had  long  merited  a  reputation  in 
vain,  made  one  rapidly  by  luck.  Things  looked  bright. 
The  old  man's  pride  was  cheered  at  last,  and  his  purse 
began  to  fill.  He  spent  much  of  his  gain,  however,  in 
sovereign  herbs  and  choice  drugs,  and  would  have  so 
invested  them  all,  but  Margaret  white-mailed  a  part. 
The  victory  came  too  late.  Its  happy  excitement  was 
fatal. 

One  evening  in  bidding  her  good-night  his  voice  seemed 
rather  inarticulate. 


4  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


The  next  morning  he  was  found  speechless,  and  only 
just  sensible. 

Margaret,  who  had  been  for  years  her  father's  attentive 
pupil;  saw  at  once  that  he  had  had  a  paralytic  stroke. 
But  not  trusting  to  herself,  she  ran  for  a  doctor.  One 
of  those,  who,  obstructed  by  Peter,  had  not  killed  the 
civic  dignitary,  came  and  cheerfully  confirmed  her  views. 
He  was  for  bleeding  the  patient.  She  declined.  "He 
was  always  against  blooding,"  said  she,  "  especially  the 
old."  Peter  lived,  but  was  never  the  same  man  again. 
His  memory  became  much  affected,  and  of  course  he  was 
not  to  be  trusted  to  prescribe ;  and  several  patients  had 
come,  and  one  or  two,  that  were  bent  on  being  cured  by 
the  new  doctor,  and  no  other,  awaited  his  convalescence. 
Misery  stared  her  in  the  face.  She  resolved  to  go  for 
advice  and  comfort  to  her  cousin  William  Johnson,  from 
whom  she  had  hitherto  kept  aloof  out  of  pride  and  pov- 
erty. She  found  him  and  his  servant  sitting  in  the  same 
room,  and  neither  of  them  the  better  for  liquor.  Master- 
ing all  signs  of  surprise,  she  gave  her  greetings,  and 
presently  told  him  she  had  come  to  talk  on  a  family 
matter,  and  with  this  glanced  quietly  at  the  servant  by 
way  of  hint.    The  woman  took  it,  but  not  as  expected. 

"  Oh,  you  can  speak  before  me,  can  she  not,  my  old 
man  ?  " 

At  this  familiarity  Margaret  turned  very  red,  and 
said,  — 

"  I  cry  you  mercy,  mistress.  I  knew  not  my  cousin 
had  fallen  into  the  custom  of  this  town.  "Well,  I  must 
take  a  fitter  opportunity ;  "  and  she  rose  to  go. 

"  I  wot  not  what  ye  mean  by  custom  o'  the  town,"  said 
the  woman,  bouncing  up.  "  But  this  I  know :  'tis  the 
part  of  a  faithful  servant  to  keep  her  master  from  being 
preyed  on  by  his  beggarly  kin." 

Margaret  retorted :  "  Ye  are  too  modest,  mistress.  Ye 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  5 


are  no  servant.  Your  speech  betrays  you.  'Tis  not  till 
the  ape  hath  mounted  the  tree  that  she  shows  her  tail  so 
plain.  Nay,  there  sits  the  servant ;  God  help  him  !  And 
while  so  it  is,  fear  not  thou  his  kin  will  ever  be  so  poor 
in  spirit  as  come  where  the  likes  of  you  can  flout  their 
dole."  And  casting  one  look  of  mute  reproach  at  her 
cousin  for  being  so  little  of  a  man  as  to  sit  passive  and 
silent  all  this  time,  she  turned  and  went  haughtily  out ; 
nor  would  she  shed  a  single  tear  till  she  got  home  and 
thought  of  it.  And  now  here  were  two  men  to  be  lodged 
and  fed  by  one  pregnant  girl ;  and  another  mouth  coming 
into  the  world. 

But  this  last,  though  the  most  helpless  of  all,  was  their 
best  friend. 

Nature  was  strong  in  Margaret  Brandt;  that  same 
nature  which  makes  the  brutes,  the  birds,  and  the  in- 
sects so  cunning  at  providing  food  and  shelter  for  their 
progeny  yet  to  come. 

Stimulated  by  nature  she  sat  and  brooded,  and  brooded, 
and  thought,  and  thought,  how  to  be  beforehand  with 
destitution.  Ay,  though  she  had  still  five  gold  pieces 
left,  she  saw  starvation  coming  with  inevitable  foot. 

Her  sex,  when,  deviating  from  custom,  it  thinks  with 
male  intensity,  thinks  just  as  much  to  the  purpose  as  we 
do.  She  rose,  bade  Martin  move  Peter  to  another  room, 
made  her  own  very  neat  and  clean,  polished  the  glass 
globe,  and  suspended  it  from  the  ceiling,  dusted  the 
crocodile  and  nailed  him  to  the  outside  wall :  and,  after 
duly  instructing  Martin,  set  him  to  play  the  lounging 
sentinel  about  the  street  door,  and  tell  the  crocodile- 
bitten  that  a  great,  and  aged,  and  learned  alchymist 
abode  there,  who  in  his  moments  of  recreation  would 
sometimes  amuse  himself  by  curing  mortal  diseases. 

Patients  soon  came,  and  were  received  by  Margaret, 
and  demanded  to  see  the  leech.    "That  might  not  be. 


6 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


He  was  deep  in  his  studies,  searching  for  the  grand 
elixir,  and  not  princes  could  have  speech  of  him.  They 
must  tell  her  their  symptoms,  and  return  in  two  hours." 
And,  oh !  mysterious  powers  !  when  they  did  return,  the 
drug  or  draught  was  always  ready  for  them.  Sometimes, 
when  it  was  a  worshipful  patient,  she  would  carefully 
scan  his  face,  and  feeling  both  pulse  and  skin,  as  well  as 
hearing  his  story,  would  go  softly  with  it  to  Peter's 
room ;  and  there  think  and  ask  herself  how  her  father, 
whose  system  she  had  long  quietly  observed,  would  have 
treated  the  case.  Then  she  would  write  an  illegible 
scrawl  with  a  cabalistic  letter,  and  bring  it  down  rever- 
entially, and  show  it  the  patient,  and  "  Could  he  read 
that  ?  "  Then  it  would  be  either,  "  I  am  no  reader,"  or, 
with  admiration,  "  Nay,  mistress,  naught  can  I  make  on't." 

"  Ay,  but  I  can.  'Tis  sovereign.  Look  on  thyself  as 
cured  ! "  If  she  had  the  materials  by  her,  and  she  was 
too  good  an  economist  not  to  favor  somewhat  those  med- 
icines she  had  in  her  own  stock,  she  would  sometimes  let 
the  patient  see  her  compound  it,  often  and  anxiously 
consulting  the  sacred  prescription  lest  great  science 
should  suffer  in  her  hands.  And  so  she  would  send 
them  away  relieved  of  cash,  but  with  their  pockets  full 
of  medicine,  and  minds  full  of  faith,  and  humbugged  to 
their  heart's  content.  Populus  vult  decipi.  And  when 
they  were  gone,  she  would  take  down  two  little  boxes 
Gerard  had  made  her ;  r  and  on  one  of  these  she  had 
written  To-day,  and  on  the  other  To-morrow,  and  put  the 
smaller  coins  into  "To-day,"  and  the  larger  into  "To- 
morrow," along  with  such  of  her  gold  pieces  as  had  sur- 
vived the  journey  from  Sevenbergen,  and  the  expenses 
of  housekeeping  in  a  strange  place.  And  so  she  met 
current  expenses,  and  laid  by  for  the  rainy  day  she  saw 
coming,  and  mixed  drugs  with  simples,  and  vice  with 
virtue.    On  this  last  score  her  conscience  pricked  her 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


7 


sore,  and  after  each  day's  comedy,  she  knelt  down  and 
prayed  God  to  forgive  her  "for  the  sake  of  her  child." 
But  lo,  and  behold,  cure  after  cure  was  reported  to  her ; 
so  then  her  conscience  began  to  harden.  Martin  Witten- 
haagen  had  of  late  been  a  dead  weight  on  her  hands. 
Like  most  men  who  have  endured  great  hardships,  he 
had  stiffened  rather  suddenly.  But,  though  less  supple, 
he  was  as  strong  as  ever,  and  at  his  own  pace  could  have 
carried  the  doctor  herself  round  Kotterdam  city.  He 
carried  her  slops  instead. 

In  this  new  business  he  showed  the  qualities  of  a 
soldier :  unreasoning  obedience,  punctuality,  accuracy, 
despatch,  and  drunkenness. 

He  fell  among  "  good  fellows  "  ;  the  blackguards  plied 
him  with  Schiedam ;  he  babbled,  he  bragged. 

Doctor  Margaret  had  risen  very  high  in  his  estimation. 
All  this  brandishing  of  a  crocodile  for  a  standard,  and 
setting  a  dotard  in  ambush,  and  getting  rid  of  slops,  and 
taking  good  money  in  exchange,  struck  him  not  as  science, 
but  something  far  superior,  strategy.  And  he  boasted  in 
his  cups,  and  before  a  mixed  company,  how  "  me  and  my 
general  we  are  a-biting  of  the  burghers." 

When  this  revelation  had  had  time  to  leaven  the  city, 
his  general,  Doctor  Margaret,  received  a  call  from  the 
constables  :  they  took  her,  trembling,  and  begging  subor- 
dinate machines  to  forgive  her,  before  the  burgomaster ; 
and  by  his  side  stood  real  physicians,  a  terrible  row,  in 
long  robes  and  square  caps,  accusing  her  of  practising 
unlawfully  on  the  bodies  of  the  duke's  lieges.  At  first 
she  was  too  frightened  to  say  a  word.  Novice  like,  the 
very  name  of  "  law "  paralyzed  her.  But  being  ques- 
tioned closely,  but  not  so  harshly  as  if  she  had  been 
ugly,  she  told  the  truth ;  she  had  long  been  her  father's 
pupil,  and  had  but  followed  his  system,  and  she  had 
cured  many ;  "  and  it  is  not  for  myself  in  very  deed,  sirs, 


8 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


but  I  have  two  poor  helpless  honest  men  at  home  upon 
my  hands,  and  how  else  can  I  keep  them  ?  Ah,  good 
sirs,  let  a  poor  girl  make  her  bread  honestly ;  ye  hinder 
them  not  to  make  it  idly  and  shamefully ;  and  oh,  sirs, 
ye  are  husbands,  ye  are  fathers  ;  ye  cannot  but  see  I  have 
reason  to  work  and  provide  as  best  I  may ;  "  and  ere  this 
woman's  appeal  had  left  her  lips,  she  would  have  given 
the  world  to  recall  it,  and  stood  with  one  hand  upon  her 
heart,  and  one  before  her  face,  hiding  it,  but  not  the 
tears  that  trickled  underneath  it.  All  which  went  to 
the  wrong  address.  Perhaps  a  female  bailiff  might 
have  yielded  to  such  arguments,  and  bade  her  practise 
medicine,  and  break  law,  till  such  time  as  her  child 
should  be  weaned,  and  no  longer. 

"  What  have  we  to  do  with  that,"  said  the  burgomaster, 
"save  and  except  that  if  thou  wilt  pledge  thyself  to 
break  the  law  no  more,  I  will  remit  the  imprisonment, 
and  exact  but  the  fine  ?  99 

On  this  Doctor  Margaret  clasped  her  hands  together, 
and  vowed  most  penitently  never,  never,  never,  to  cure 
body  or  beast  again ;  and  being  dismissed  with  the  con- 
stables to  pay  the  fine,  she  turned  at  the  door,  and  court- 
esied,  poor  soul,  and  thanked  the  gentlemen  for  their 
forbearance. 

And  to  pay  the  fine  the  "to-morrow  box"  must  be 
opened  on  the  instant ;  and  with  excess  of  caution  she 
had  gone  and  nailed  it  up,  that  no  slight  temptation 
might  prevail  to  open  it.  And  now  she  could  not  draw 
the  nails,  and  the  constables  grew  impatient,  and  doubted 
its  contents,  and  said,  "  Let  us  break  it  for  you."  But 
she  would  not  let  them.  "Ye  will  break  it  worse  than 
I  shall."  And  she  took  a  hammer,  and  struck  too  faintly, 
and  lost  all  strength  for  a  minute,  and  wept  hysterically ; 
and  at  last  she  broke  it,  and  a  little  cry  broke  from  her 
when  it  broke  :  and  she  paid  the  fine,  and  it  took  all  her 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  9 


unlawful  gains  and  two  gold  pieces  to  boot ;  and,  when 
the  men  were  gone,  she  drew  the  broken  pieces  of  the 
box,  and  what  little  money  they  had  left  her,  all  together 
on  the  table,  and  her  arms  went  round  them,  and  her 
rich  hair  escaped,  and  fell  down  all  loose,  and  she  bowed 
her  forehead  on  the  wreck,  and  sobbed,  "  My  love's  box 
it  is  broken,  and  my  heart  withal ; "  and  so  remained. 
And  Martin  Wittenhaagen  came  in,  and  she  could  not 
lift  her  head,  but  sighed  out  to  him  what  had  befallen 
her,  ending,  "  My  love  his  box  is  broken,  and  so  mine 
heart  is  broken." 

And  Martin  was  not  so  sad  as  wroth.  Some  traitor 
had  betrayed  him.  What  stony  heart  had  told,  and 
brought  her  to  this  pass  ?  Whoever  it  was  should  feel 
his  arrow's  point.  The  curious  attitude  in  which  he 
must  deliver  the  shaft  never  occurred  to  him. 

"  Idle  chat !  idle  chat ! "  moaned  Margaret,  without 
lifting  her  brow  from  the  table.  "  When  you  have  slain 
all  the  gossips  in  this  town,  can  we  eat  them  ?  Tell  me 
how  to  keep  you  all,  or  prithee  hold  thy  peace,  and  let 
the  saints  get  leave  to  whisper  me."  Martin  held  his 
tongue,  and  cast  uneasy  glances  at  his  defeated  general. 

Towards  evening  she  rose,  and  washed  her  face  and 
did  up  her  hair,  and  doggedly  bade  Martin  take  down 
the  crocodile,  and  put  out  a  basket  instead. 

"  I  can  get  up  linen  better  than  they  seem  to  do  it  in 
this  street,"  said  she,  "and  you  must  carry  it  in  the 
basket." 

"  That  will  I  for  thy  sake,"  said  the  soldier. 
"  Good  Martin !  forgive  me  that  I  spake  shrewishly  to 
thee." 

Even  while  they  were  talking  came  a  male  for  advice. 
Margaret  told  it  the  mayor  had  interfered  and  forbidden 
her  to  sell  drugs.  "  But,"  said  she,  "  I  will  gladly  iron 
and  starch  your  linen  for  you,  and  —  I  will  come  and 
fetch  it  from  your  house." 


10 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  Are  ye  mad,  young  woman  ?  "  said  the  male.  "  I 
come  for  a  leech,  and  ye  proffer  me  a  washerwoman ; " 
and  it  went  out  in  dudgeon. 

"  There  is  a  stupid  creature,"  said  Margaret,  sadly. 

Presently  came  a  female  to  tell  the  symptoms  of  her 
sick  child.    Margaret  stopped  it. 

"  We  are  forbidden  by  the  bailiff  to  sell  drugs.  But  I 
will  gladly  wash,  iron,  and  starch  your  linen  for  you  — 
and  —  I  will  come  and  fetch  it  from  your  house." 

"  Oh,  ay,"  said  the  female.  "  Well,  I  have  some  smocks 
and  ruffs  foul.  Come  for  them  ;  and  when  you  are  there, 
you  can  look  at  the  boy ; "  and  it  told  her  where  it  lived, 
and  when  its  husband  would  be  out ;  yet  it  was  rather 
fond  of  its  husband  than  not. 

An  introduction  is  an  introduction.  And  two  or  three 
patients  out  of  all  those  who  came  and  were  denied 
medicine,  made  Doctor  Margaret  their  washerwoman. 

"Now,  Martin,  you  must  help.  I'll  no  more  cats  than 
can  slay  mice." 

"  Mistress,  the  stomach  is  not  a-wanting  for't,  but  the 
head-piece,  worse  luck." 

"  Oh !  I  mean  not  the  starching  and  ironing ;  that  takes 
a  woman  and  a  handy  one.  But  the  bare  washing;  a 
man  can  surely  contrive  that.  Why,  a  mule  has  wit 
enough  in's  head  to  do't  with  his  hoofs,  an  ye  could 
drive  him  into  the  tub.    Come,  off  doublet,  and  try." 

"  I  am  your  man,"  said  the  brave  old  soldier,  stripping 
for  the  unwonted  toil.  "  I'll  risk  my  arm  in  soapsuds, 
an  you  will  risk  your  glory." 

"  My  what  ?  " 

"Your  glory  and  honor  as  a  —  washerwoman." 

"  Gramercy  !  if  you  are  man  enough  to  bring  me  half- 
washed  linen  t'  iron,  I  am  woman  enough  to  fling't  back 
i'  the  suds." 

And  so  the  brave  girl  and  the  brave  soldier  worked 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  11 


with  a  will,  and  kept  the  wolf  from  the  door.  More 
they  could  not  do.  Margaret  had  repaired  the  "to- 
morrow box,"  and  as  she  leaned  over  the  glue,  her  tears 
mixed  with  it,  and  she  cemented  her  exiled  lover's  box 
with  them,  at  which  a  smile  is  allowable,  but  an  intelli- 
gent smile  tipped  with  pity,  please,  and  not  the  empty 
guffaw  of  the  nineteenth-century  jackass,  burlesquing 
Bibles,  and  making  fun  of  all  things  except  fun.  But 
when  mended  it  stood  unreplenished.  They  kept  the 
weekly  rent  paid,  and  the  pot  boiling,  but  no  more. 

And  now  came  a  concatenation.  Recommended  from 
one  to  another,  Margaret  washed  for  the  mayor.  And 
bringing  home  the  clean  linen  one  day,  she  heard  in  the 
kitchen  that  his  worship's  only  daughter  was  stricken 
with  disease  and  not  like  to  live.  Poor  Margaret  could 
not  help  cross-questioning,  and  a  female  servant  gave 
her  such  of  the  symptoms  as  she  had  observed.  But 
they  were  too  general.  However,  one  gossip  would  add 
one  fact,  and  another  another.  And  Margaret  pondered 
them  all. 

At  last  one  day  she  met  the  mayor  himself.  He 
recognized  her  directly.  "  Why,  you  are  the  unlicensed 
doctor." 

"  I  was,"  said  she,  "  but  now  I'm  your  worship's 
washerwoman."  The  dignitary  colored,  and  said  that 
was  rather  a  come-down. 

"  Nay,  I  bear  no  malice,  for  your  worship  might  have 
been  harder.  Bather  would  I  do  you  a  good  turn.  Sir, 
you  have  a  sick  daughter.    Let  me  see  her." 

The  mayor  shook  his  head.  "  That  cannot  be.  The 
law  I  do  enforce  on  others  I  may  not  break  myself." 

Margaret  opened  her  eyes.  "Alack,  sir,  I  seek  no 
guerdon  now  for  curing  folk  ;  why,  I  am  a  washerwoman. 
I  trow  one  may  heal  all  the  world,  an  if  one  will  but  let 
the  world  starve  one  in  return." 


12 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


'•That  is  no  more  than  just,"  said  the  mayor;  he 
added,  "an  ye  make  no  trade  on't;  there  is  no  of- 
fence." 

"  Then  let  me  see  her." 

"  What  avails  it  ?  The  learnedest  leeches  in  Eotter- 
dam  have  all  seen  her,  and  bettered  her  nought.  Her  ill 
is  inscrutable.  One  skilled  wight  saith  spleen ;  another, 
liver;  another,  blood;  another,  stomach;  and  another, 
that  she  is  possessed;  and  in  very  truth,  she  seems  to 
have  a  demon ;  shunneth  all  company ;  pineth  alone ; 
eateth  no  more  victuals  than  might  diet  a  sparrow. 
Speaketh  seldom,  nor  hearkens  them  that  speak,  and 
weareth  thinner  and  paler  and  nearer  and  nearer  the 
grave,  well-a-day." 

"  Sir,"  said  Margaret,  "  an  if  you  take  your  velvet 
doublet  to  half  a  dozen  of  shops  in  Rotterdam,  and  speer 
is  this  fine  or  sorry  velvet,  and  worth  how  much  the  ell, 
those  six  traders  will  eye  it  and  feel  it,  and  all  be  in  one 
story  to  a  letter.  And  why  ?  Because  they  know  their 
trade.  And  your  leeches  are  all  in  different  stories. 
Why  ?  Because  they  know  not  their  trade.  I  have 
heard  my  father  say  each  is  enamoured  of  some  one  evil, 
and  seeth  it  with  his  bat's  eyn  in  every  patient.  Had 
they  stayed  at  home,  and  ne'er  seen  your  daughter,  they 
had  answered  all  the  same,  spleen,  blood,  stomach,  lungs, 
liver,  lunacy,  or,  as  they  call  it,  possession.  Let  me  see 
her.  We  are  of  a  sex,  and  that  is  much."  And  when 
he  still  hesitated,  "  Saints  of  heaven  !  "  cried  she,  giving 
way  to  the  irritability  of  a  breeding  woman,  "is  this 
how  men  love  their  own  flesh  and  blood  ?  Her  mother 
had  ta'en  me  in  her  arms  ere  this,  and  carried  me  to  the 
sick-room."    And  two  violet  eyes  flashed  fire. 

"  Come  with  me,"  said  the  mayor,  hastily. 

"  Mistress,  I  have  brought  thee  a  new  doctor." 

The  person  addressed,  a  pale  young  girl  of  eighteen, 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  13 


gave  a  contemptuous  wrench  of  her  shoulder,  and  turned 
more  decidedly  to  the  fire  she  was  sitting  over. 

Margaret  came  softly  and  sat  beside  her.  "But  'tis 
one  that  will  not  torment  you." 

"  A  woman  ! "  exclaimed  the  young  lady,  with  surprise 
and  some  contempt. 

"  Tell  her  your  symptoms." 

"  What  for  ?  you  will  be  no  wiser." 

"  You  will  be  none  the  worse." 

"  Well,  I  have  no  stomach  for  food,  and  no  heart  for 
anything.    Now  cure  me,  and  go." 

"  Patience  awhile  !  Your  food,  is  it  tasteless  like  in 
your  mouth  ?  " 

"  Ay.    How  knew  you  that  ?  " 

"  Nay,  I  knew  it  not  till  you  did  tell  me.  I  trow  you 
would  be  better  for  a  little  good  company." 

"  I  trow  not.    What  is  their  silly  chat  to  me  ?  " 

Here  Margaret  requested  the  father  to  leave  them 
alone,  and  in  his  absence  put  some  practical  questions. 
Then  she  reflected. 

"When  you  wake  i'  the  morning  you  find  yourself 
quiver,  as  one  may  say  ?  " 

"  Nay.    Ay.    How  knew  you  that  ?  " 

"  Shall  I  dose  you,  or  shall  I  but  tease  you  a  bit  with 
my  '  silly  chat '  ?  " 

"Which  you  will." 

"Then  I  will  tell  you  a  story.  'Tis  about  two  true 
lovers." 

"  I  hate  to  hear  of  lovers,"  said  the  girl ;  "  neverthe- 
less canst  tell  me,  'twill  be  less  nauseous  than  your 
physic  —  maybe." 

Margaret  then  told  her  a  love  story.  The  maiden  was 
a  girl  called  Ursel,  and  the  youth  one  Conrad ;  she  an  old 
physician's  daughter,  he  the  son  of  a  hosier  at  Tergou. 
She  told  their  adventures,  their  troubles,  their  sad  condi« 


14 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEAETH. 


tion.  She  told  it  from  the  female  point  of  view,  and  in 
a  sweet  and  winning  and  earnest  voice,  that  by  degrees 
soon  laid  hold  of  this  sullen  heart,  and  held  it  breath- 
less ;  and  when  she  broke  it  off  her  patient  was  much 
disappointed. 

"  Nay,  nay,  I  must  hear  the  end.    I  will  hear  it." 

"  Ye  cannot,  for  I  know  it  not ;  none  knoweth  that  but 
God." 

"  Ah;  your  Ursel  was  a  jewel  of  worth/'  said  the  girl, 
earnestly.    "  Would  she  were  here  ! " 
"  Instead  of  her  that  is  here  ?  " 
"  I  say  not  that,"  and  she  blushed  a  little. 
"You  do  but  think  it." 

"  Thought  is  free.  Whether  or  no,  an  she  were  here, 
I'd  give  her  a  buss,  poor  thing." 

"  Then  give  it  me,  for  I  am  she." 

"  Nay,  nay,  that  I'll  be  sworn  y'are  not." 

"  Say  not  so ;  in  very  truth  I  am  she.  And  prithee, 
sweet  mistress,  go.  not  from  your  word,  but  give  me  the 
buss  ye  promised  me,  and  with  a  good  heart,  for  oh,  my 
own  heart  lies  heavy;  heavy  as  thine,  sweet  mistress." 

The  young  gentlewoman  rose  and  put  her  arms  round 
Margaret's  neck  and  kissed  her.  "  I  am  woe  for  you," 
she  sighed.  "  You  are  a  good  soul ;  you  have  done  me 
good  —  a  little."  (A  gulp  came  in  her  throat.)  a  Come 
again  !  come  often !  " 

Margaret  did  come  again,  and  talked  with  her,  and 
gently  but  keenly  watched  what  topics  interested  her, 
and  found  there  was  but  one.  Then  she  said  to  the 
mayor,  "I  know  your  daughter's  trouble,  and  'tis 
curable." 

"Whatis't?  the  blood?" 

"Nay." 

"The  stomach?" 
"Nay." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


15 


"The  liver?" 
"Nay." 

"The  foul  fiend ?» 
"Nay." 

"What  then?" 
"Love." 

"  Love  ?  stuff,  impossible !  She  is  but  a  child ;  she 
never  stirs  abroad  unguarded.  She  never  hath  from  a 
child." 

"  All  the  better ;  then  we  shall  not  have  far  to  look 
for  him." 

"  I  trow  not.  I  shall  but  command  her  to  tell  me  the 
caitiff's  name,  that  hath  by  magic  arts  ensnared  her 
young  affections." 

"  Oh,  how  foolish  be  the  wise  ! "  said  Margaret ;  "  what, 
would  ye  go  and  put  her  on  her  guard?  Nay,  let  us 
work  by  art  first ;  and  if  that  fails,  then  'twill  still  be 
time  for  violence  and  folly." 

Margaret  then  with  some  difficulty  prevailed  on  the 
mayor  to  take  advantage  of  its  being  Saturday,  and  pay 
all  his  people  their  salaries  in  his  daughter's  presence 
and  hers. 

It  was  done :  some  fifteen  people  entered  the  room, 
and  received  their  pay  with  a  kind  word  from  their 
employer.  Then  Margaret,  who  had  sat  close  to  the 
patient  all  the  time,  rose  and  went  out.  The  mayor 
followed  her. 

"  Sir,  how  call  you  yon  black-haired  lad  ?  " 

"  That  is  Ulrich,  my  clerk." 

"Well  then,  'tis  he." 

"  Now  Heaven  forbid  !  a  lad  I  took  out  of  the  streets. 

"Well,  but  your  worship  is  an  understanding  man. 
Yon  took  him  not  up  without  some  merit  of  his  ?  " 

"Merit  ?  not  a  jot !  I  liked  the  looks  of  the  brat,  that 
was  all." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"Was  that  no  merit?  He  pleased  the  father's  eye. 
And  now  he  hath  pleased  the  daughter's.  That  has  oft 
been  seen  since  Adam." 

"  How  know  ye  'ti  he  ?  " 

"I  held  her  hand,  and  with  my  finger  did  lightly 
touch  her  wrist ;  and,  when  the  others  came  and  went, 
'twas  as  if  dogs  and  cats  had  fared  in  and  out.  But  at 
this  Ulrich's  coming  her  pulse  did  leap,  and  her  eye 
shine ;  and,  when  he  went,  she  did  sink  back  and  sigh ; 
and  'twas  to  be  seen  the  sun  had  gone  out  of  the  room 
for  her.  Nay,  burgomaster,  look  not  on  me  so  scared; 
no  witch  or  magician  I,  but  a  poor  girl  that  hath  been 
docile,  and  so  bettered  herself  by  a  great  neglected 
leech's  art  and  learning.  I  tell  ye  all  this  hath  been 
done  before,  thousands  of  years  ere  we  were  born.  Now 
bide  thou  there  till  I  come  to  thee,  and  prithee,  prithee, 
spoil  not  good  work  wi'  meddling."  She  then  went  back 
and  asked  her  patient  for  a  lock  of  her  hair. 

"  Take  it,"  said  she,  more  listlessly  than  ever. 

"  Why,  'tis  a  lass  of  marble.  How  long  do  you  count 
to  be  like  that,  mistress  ?  " 

"  Till  I  am  in  my  grave,  sweet  Peggy." 

"  Who  knows  ?  may  be  in  ten  minutes  you  will  be 
altogether  as  hot." 

She  ran  into  the  shop,  but  speedily  returned  to  the 
mayor  and  said,  "  Good  news  !  He  fancies  her,  and  more 
than  a  little.  Now  how  is't  to  be  ?  Will  you  marry 
your  child,  or  bury  her  ?  for  there  is  no  third  way,  for 
shame  and  love  they  do  rend  her  virgin  heart  to  death." 

The  dignitary  decided  for  the  more  cheerful  rite,  but 
not  without  a  struggle ;  and,  with  its  marks  on  his  face, 
he  accompanied  Margaret  to  his  daughter.  But  as  men 
are  seldom  in  a  hurry  to  drink  their  wormwood,  he  stood 
silent.  So  Doctor  Margaret  said,  cheerfully,  "  Mistress, 
^our  lock  is  gone,  I  have  sold  it." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


17 


"  And  who  was  so  mad  as  to  buy  such  a  thing  ?  "  in- 
quired the  young  lady  scornfully. 

"  Oh,  a  black-haired  laddie  wi'  white  teeth.  They  call 
him  Ulrich." 

The  pale  face  reddened  directly  — brow  and  all. 

"Says  he,  'Oh,  sweet  mistress,  give  it  me/  I  had 
told  them  all  whose  'twas.  <  Nay,'  said  I,  '  selling  is  my 
livelihood,  not  giving/  So  he  offered  me  this,  he  offered 
me  that,  but  nought  less  would  I  take  than  his  next 
quarter's  wages." 

"  Cruel,"  murmured  the  girl  scarce  audibly. 

"  Why,  you  are  in  one  tale  with  your  father.  Says  he 
to  me  when  I  told  him, '  Oh,  an  he  loves  her  hair  so  well, 
'tis  odd  but  he  loves  the  rest  of  her.  Well,'  quoth  he, 
'  'tis  an  honest  lad,  and  a'  shall  have  her,  gien  she  will 
but  leave  her  sulks  and  consent.'  So,  what  say  ye,  mis- 
tress ?  will  you  be  married  to  Ulrich,  or  buried  i'  the 
kirkyard  ?  " 

"  Father  !  father !  " 

"  'Tis  so,  girl,  speak  thy  mind." 

"I  —  will  —  obey  —  my  father  —  in  all  things,"  stam- 
mered the  poor  girl,  trying  hard  to  maintain  the  advanta- 
geous position  in  which  Margaret  had  placed  her.  But 
nature,  and  the  joy  and  surprise,  were  too  strong  even 
for  a  virgin's  bashful  cunning.  She  cast  an  eloquent 
look  on  them  both,  and  sank  at  her  father's  knees,  and 
begged  his  pardon,  with  many  sobs  for  having  doubted 
his  tenderness. 

He  raised  her  in  his  arms,  and  took  her,  radiant 
through  her  tears  with  joy,  and  returning  life,  and  filial 
love,  to  his  breast ;  and  the  pair  passed  a  truly  sacred 
moment,  and  the  dignitary  was  as  happy  as  he  thought 
to  be  miserable,  so  hard  is  it  for  mortals  to  foresee.  And 
they  looked  round  for  Margaret,  but  she  had  stolen  away 
softly. 
2 


18 


THE  CLOISTER  AXD  THE  HEARTH. 


The  young  girl  searched  the  house  for  her. 

"  Where  is  she  hid  ?    Where  on  earth  is  she  ?  " 

Where  was  she  ?  why,  in  her  own  house,  dressing  meat 
for  her  two  old  children,  and  crying  bitterly  the  while 
at  the  living  picture  of  happiness  she  had  just  created. 

"  Well-a-day :  the  odds  between  her  lot  and  mine ;  well- 
a-day ! " 

Next  time  she  met  the  dignitary,  he  hemm'd  and 
hawed,  and  remarked  what  a  pity  it  was  the  law  forbade 
him  to  pay  her  who  had  cured  his  daughter.  "  How- 
ever, when  all  is  done,  'twas  not  art,  'twas  but  woman's 
wit." 

"Nought  but  that,  burgomaster,"  said  Margaret  bit- 
terly. "  Pay  the  men  of  art  for  not  curing  her :  all  the 
guerdon  I  seek,  that  cured  her,  is  this  ;  go  not  and  give 
your  foul  linen  away  from  me  by  way  of  thanks." 

"Why  should  I  ?  "  inquired  he. 

"  Marry,  because  there  be  fools  about  ye  will  tell  ye 
she  that  hath  wit  to  cure  dark  diseases,  cannot  have  wit 
to  take  dirt  out  of  rags ;  so  pledge  me  your  faith." 

The  dignitary  promised  pompously,  and  felt  all  the 
patron. 

Something  must  be  done  to  fill  "to-morrow's  box." 
She  hawked  her  initial  letters  and  her  illuminated  vel- 
lums all  about  the  town.  Printing  had  by  this  time 
dealt  calligraphy  in  black  and  white  a  terrible  blow  in 
Holland  and  Germany.  But  some  copies  of  the  printed 
books  were  usually  illuminated  and  lettered.  The  print- 
ers offered  Margaret  prices  for  work  in  these  two  kinds. 

"  I'll  think  on't,"  said  she. 

She  took  down  her  diurnal  book,  and  calculated  that 
the  price  of  an  hour's  work  on  those  arts  would  be  about 
one-fifth  what  she  got  for  an  hour  at  the  tub  and  mangle. 
"  I'll  starve  first,"  said  she  ;  "  what !  pay  a  craft  and  a 
mystery  five  times  less  than  a  handicraft !  " 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  19 


Martin,  carrying  the  dry  clothes-basket,  got  treated, 
and  drunk.  This  time  he  babbled  her  whole  story.  The 
girls  got  hold  of  it  and  gibed  her  at  the  fountain. 

All  she  had  gone  through  was  light  to  her,  compared 
with  the  pins  and  bodkins  her  own  sex  drove  into  her 
heart,  whenever  she  came  near  the  merry  crew  with  her 
pitcher,  and  that  was  every  day.  Each  sex  has  its  form 
of  cruelty ;  man's  is  more  brutal  and  terrible  ;  but  shallow 
women,  that  have  neither  read  nor  suffered,  have  an 
unmuscular  barbarity  of  their  own  (where  no  feeling  of 
sex  steps  in  to  overpower  it).  This  defect,  intellectual 
perhaps  rather  than  moral,  has  been  mitigated  in  our  day 
by  books,  especially  by  able  works  of  fiction  ;  for  there 
are  two  roads  to  that  highest  effort  of  intelligence,  pity ; 
experience  of  sorrows,  and  imagination,  by  which  alone 
we  realize  the  grief  we  never  felt.  In  the  fifteenth  cent- 
ury girls  with  pitchers  had  but  one  :  experience ;  and  at 
sixteen  years  of  age  or  so,  that  road  had  scarce  been 
trodden.  These  girls  persisted  that  Margaret  was  deserted 
by  her  lover.  And  to  be  deserted  was  a  crime.  (They 
had  not  been  deserted  yet.)  Not  a  word  against  the 
Gerard  they  had  created  out  of  their  own  heads.  For 
his  imaginary  crime  they  fell  foul  of  the  supposed  vic- 
tim. Sometimes  they  affronted  her  to  her  face.  Oftener 
they  talked  at  her  backwards  and  forwards  with  a  subtle 
skill,  and  a  perseverance  which,  "  Oh,  that  they  had 
bestowed  on  the  arts,"  as  poor  Aguecheek  says. 

Now  Margaret  was  brave,  and  a  coward  ;  brave  to  battle 
difficulties  and  ill  fortune  ;  brave  to  shed  her  own  blood 
for  those  she  loved.  Fortitude  she  had.  But  she  had 
no  true  fighting  courage.  She  was  a  powerful  young 
woman,  rather  tall,  full,  and  symmetrical ;  yet,  had  one 
of  those  slips  of  girls  slapped  her  face,  the  poor  fool's 
hands  would  have  dropped  powerless,  or  gone  to  her  own 
eyes  instead  of  her  adversary's.    Nor  was  she  even  a 


20 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


match  for  so  many  tongues ;  and,  besides,  what  could  she 
say  ?  She  knew  nothing  of  these  girls,  except  that 
somehow  they  had  found  out  her  sorrows,  and  hated  her ; 
only  she  thought  to  herself  they  must  be  very  happy,  or 
they  would  not  be  so  hard  on  her. 

So  she  took  their  taunts  in  silence  j  and  all  her  struggle 
was  not  to  let  them  see  their  power  to  make  her  writhe 
within. 

Here  came  in  her  fortitude  ;  and  she  received  their 
blows  with  well-feigned,  icy  hauteur.  They  slapped  a 
statue. 

But  one  day,  when  her  spirits  were  weak,  as  happens 
at  times  to  females  in  her  condition,  a  dozen  assailants 
followed  suit  so  admirably,  that  her  whole  sex  seemed  to 
the  dispirited  one  to  be  against  her,  and  she  lost  heart, 
and  the  tears  began  to  run  silently  at  each  fresh  stab. 

On  this  their  triumph  knew  no  bounds,  and  they  fol- 
lowed her  half  way  home,  casting  barbed  speeches. 

After  that  exposure  of  weakness  the  statue  could  be 
assumed  no  more.  So  then  she  would  stand  timidly 
aloof  out  of  tongue-shot,  till  her  young  tyrants'  pitchers 
were  all  filled,  and  they  gone ;  and  then  creep  up  with 
hers.  And  one  day  she  waited  so  long  that  the  fount 
had  ceased  to  flow.  So  the  next  day  she  was  obliged  to 
face  the  phalanx,  or  her  house  go  dry.  She  drew  near 
slowly,  but  with  the  less  tremor,  that  she  saw  a  man  at 
the  well  talking  to  them.  He  would  distract  their  atten- 
tion, and,  besides,  they  would  keep  their  foul  tongues 
quiet  if  only  to  blind  the  male  to  their  real  character. 
This  conjecture,  though  shrewd,  was  erroneous.  They 
could  not  all  flirt  with  that  one  man :  so  the  outsiders 
indemnified  themselves  by  talking  at  her  the  very 
moment  she  came  up. 

"Any  news  from  foreign  parts,  Jacqueline  ?  " 

"  None  for  me,  Martha.  My  lad  goes  no  farther  from 
me  than  the  town  wall." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  21 


"  I  can't  say  as  much/'  says  a  third. 

"  But  if  he  goes  t'  Italy  I  have  got  another  ready  to 
take  the  fool's  place." 

"  He'll  not  go  thither,  lass.  They  go  not  far  till  they 
are  sick  of  us  that  bide  in  Holland." 

Surprise  and  indignation,  and  the  presence  of  a  man, 
gave  Margaret  a  moment's  fighting  courage.  "  Oh,  flout 
me  not,  and  show  your  ill  nature  before  the  very  soldier. 
In  Heaven's  name,  what  ill  did  I  ever  to  ye,  what  harsh 
word  cast  back,  for  all  you  have  flung  on  me,  a  desolate 
stranger  in  your  cruel  town,  that  ye  flout  me  for  my  be- 
reavement and  my  poor  lad's  most  unwilling  banishment  ? 
Hearts  of  flesh  would  surely  pity  us  both,  for  that  ye 
cast  in  my  teeth  these  many  days,  ye  brows  of  brass,  ye 
bosoms  of  stone." 

They  stared  at  this  novelty,  resistance  ;  and  ere  they 
could  recover  and  make  mincemeat  of  her,  she  put  her 
pitcher  quietly  down,  and  threw  her  coarse  apron  over 
her  head,  and  stood  there  grieving,  her  short-lived  spirit 
oozing  fast.  "  Hallo  !  "  cried  the  soldier,  "  why,  what  is 
your  ill  ?  "  She  made  no  reply.  But  a  little  girl,  who 
had  long  secretly  hated  the  big  ones,  squeaked  out, 
"  They  did  flout  her,  they  are  aye  flouting  her ;  she  may 
not  come  nigh  the  fountain  for  fear  o'  them,  and  'tis  a 
black  shame." 

"  Who  spoke  to  her  ?    Not  I,  for  one." 

"  Nor  I.    I  would  not  bemean  myself  so  far." 

The  man  laughed  heartily  at  this  display  of  dignity. 
"  Come,  wife,"  said  he,  "  never  lower  thy  flag  to  such  light 
skirmishers  as  these.  Hast  a  tongue  i'  thy  head  as  well 
as  they." 

"Alack,  good  soldier,  I  was  not  bred  to  bandy  foul 
terms." 

"  Well,  but  hast  a  better  arm  than  these.  Why  not 
take  'em  by  twos  across  thy  knee,  and  skelp  'em  till  they 
cry  Meculpee  ?  " 


22 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  Nay,  I  would  not  hurt  their  bodies  for  all  their  cruel 
hearts." 

"  Then  ye  must  e'en  laugh  at  them,  wife.  What !  a 
woman  grown,  and  not  see  why  mesdames  give  tongue  ? 
You  are  a  buxom  wife ;  they  are  a  bundle  of  thread- 
papers.  You  are  fair  and  fresh :  they  have  all  the  Dutch 
rim  under  their  bright  eyes,  that  comes  of  dwelling  in 
eternal  swamps.  There  lies  your  crime.  Come,  gie  me 
thy  pitcher,  and,  if  they  flout  me,  shalt  see  me  scrub  'em 
all  wi'  my  beard  till  they  squeak  holy  mother."  The 
pitcher  was  soon  filled,  and  the  soldier  put  it  in  Marga- 
ret's hand.  She  murmured,  "  Thank  you  kindly,  brave 
soldier." 

He  patted  her  on  the  shoulder.  "  Come,  courage, 
brave  wife ;  the  divell  is  dead ! "  She  let  the  heavy 
pitcher  fall  on  his  foot  directly.  He  cursed  horribly, 
and  hopped  in  a  circle,  saying,  "  No,  the  thief's  alive  and 
has  broken  my  great  toe." 

The  apron  came  down,  and  there  was  a  lovely  face  all 
flushed  with  emotion,  and  two  beaming  eyes  in  front  of 
him,  and  two  hands  held  out  clasped. 

"Nay,  nay,  tis  nought,"  said  he,  good-humoredly,  mis- 
taking. 

"  Denys  ?  " 

"  Well  ?  But  —  hallo  !  How  do  you  know  my  name 
is  "  — 

a  Denys  of  Burgundy  !  " 

"  Why,  odsbodikins  !  I  know  you  not,  and  you  know 
me." 

"  By  Gerard's  letter.  Cross-bow  !  beard !  handsome  ! 
The  divell  is  dead." 

"  Sword  of  Goliah  !  this  must  be  she.  Bed  hair,  violet 
eyes,  lovely  face.  But  I  took  ye  for  a  married  wife, 
seeing  ye  "  — 

"  Tell  me  my  name,"  said  she  quickly. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  23 


"  Margaret  Brandt." 

"  Gerard  ?  Where  is  he  ?  Is  he  in  life  ?  Is  he  well  ? 
Is  he  coming  ?  Is  he  come  ?  Why  is  he  not  here  ? 
Where  have  ye  left  him  ?  Oh,  tell  me  !  prithee,  prithee, 
prithee  tell  me  !  " 

"Ay,  ay,  but  not  here.  Oh,  ye  are  all  curiosity  now, 
mesdames,  eh  ?  Lass,  I  have  been  three  months  a-foot 
travelling  all  Holland  to  find  ye,  and  here  you  are.  Oh, 
be  joyful !  "  and  he  flung  his  cap  in  the  air,  and  seizing 
both  her  hands  kissed  them  ardently.  "  Ah,  my  pretty 
she-comrade,  I  have  found  thee  at  last.  I  knew  I  should. 
Shalt  be  flouted  no  more.  I'll  twist  your  necks  at  the 
first  word,  ye  little  trollops.  And  I  have  got  fifteen 
gold  angels  left  for  thee,  and  our  Gerard  will  soon  be 
here.    Shalt  wet  thy  purple  eyes  no  more." 

But  the  fair  eyes  were  wet  even  now,  looking  kindly 
and  gratefully  at  the  friend  that  had  dropped  among  her. 
foes  as  if  from  heaven :  Gerard's  comrade.  "  Prithee 
come  home  with  me,  good,  kind  Denys.  I  cannot  speak 
of  him  before  these."  They  went  off  together,  followed 
by  a  chorus.  "  She  has  gotten  a  man.  She  has  gotten  a 
man  at  last.    Hoo,  hoo,  hoo  !  " 

Margaret  quickened  her  steps  ;  but  Denys  took  down 
his  cross-bow  and  pretended  to  shoot  them  all  dead  ;  they 
fled  quadrivious,  shrieking. 


24 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  reader  already  knows  how  much  these  two  had  to 
tell  one  another.  It  was  a  sweet  yet  bitter  day  for 
Margaret,  since  it  brought  her  a  true  friend,  and  ill 
news  :  for  now  first  she  learned  that  Gerard  was  all 
alone  in  that  strange  land.  She  could  not  think  with 
Denys  that  he  would  come  home  ;  indeed  he  would  have 
arrived  before  this. 

Denys  was  a  balm.  He  called  her  his  she-comrade, 
and  was  always  cheering  her  up  with  his  formula  and 
hilarities,  and  she  petted  him  and  made  much  of  him,  and 
feebly  hectored  it  over  him  as  well  as  over  Martin, 
and  would  not  let  him  eat  a  single  meal  out  of  her  house, 
and  forbade  him  to  use  naughty  words.  "  It  spoils  you, 
Denys.  Good  lack,  to  hear  such  ugly  words  come  forth 
so  comely  a  head:  forbear,  or  I  shall  be  angry:  so  be 
civil."  Whereupon  Denys  was  upon  his  good  behavior, 
and  ludicrous  the  struggle  between  his  native  politeness 
and  his  acquired  ruffianism.  And  as  it  never  rains  but  it 
pours,  other  persons  now  solicited  Margaret's  friendship. 
She  had  written  to  Margaret  Van  Eyck  a  humble  letter 
telling  her  she  knew  she  was  no  longer  the  favorite  she 
had  been,  and  would  keep  her  distance ;  but  could  not 
forget  her  benefactress's  past  kindness.  She  then  told 
her  briefly  how  many  ways  she  had  battled  for  a  living, 
and,  in  conclusion,  begged  earnestly  that  her  residence 
might  not  be  betrayed,  "  least  of  all  to  his  people.  I  do 
hate  them,  they  drove  him  from  me.  And,  even  when 
he  was  gone,  their  hearts  turned  not  to  me  as  they  would 
an  if  they  had  repented  their  cruelty  to  him." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


25 


The  Van  Eyck  was  perplexed.  At  last  she  made  a 
confidante  of  Keicht.  The  secret  ran  through  Beicht,  as 
through  a  cylinder,  to  Catherine. 

"  Ay,  and  she  is  turned  that  bitter  against  us  ?  "  said 
that  good  woman.  "  She  stole  our  son  from  us,  and  now 
she  hates  us  for  not  running  into  her  arms.  Natheless 
it  is  a  blessing  she  is  alive  and  no  farther  away  than 
Botterdam." 

The  English  princess,  now  Countess  Charolois,  made 
a  stately  progress  through  the  northern  states  of  the 
duchy,  accompanied  by  her  step-daughter  the  young 
heiress  of  Burgundy,  Marie  de  Bourgogne.  Then  the 
old  duke,  the  most  magnificent  prince  in  Europe,  put  out 
his  splendor.  Troops  of  dazzling  knights,  and  bevies 
of  fair  ladies  gorgeously  attired,  attended  the  two  prin- 
cesses ;  and  minstrels,  jongleurs,  or  story-tellers,  bards, 
musicians,  actors,  tumblers,  followed  in  the  train,  and 
there  was  fencing,  dancing,  and  joy  in  every  town  they 
shone  on.  Giles,  a  court  favorite,  sent  a  timely  message 
to  Tergou,  inviting  all  his  people  to  meet  the  pageant  at 
Botterdam. 

They  agreed  to  take  a  holiday  for  once  in  a  way,  and, 
setting  their  married  daughter  to  keep  the  shop,  came  to 
Botterdam.  But  to  two  of  them,  not  the  great  folk,  but 
little  Giles,  was  the  main  attraction.  They  had  been  in 
Botterdam  some  days,  when  Denys  met  Catherine  acci- 
dentally in  the  street,  and  after  a  warm  greeting  on  both 
sides,  bade  her  rejoice,  for  he  had  found  the  she-com- 
rade, and  crowed  ;  but  Catherine  cooled  him  by  showing 
him  how  much  earlier  he  would  have  found  her  by  stay- 
ing quietly  at  Tergou,  than  by  vagabondizing  it  all  over 
Holland.  "  And  being  found,  what  the  better  are  we  ? 
her  heart  is  set  dead  against  us  now." 

"  Oh,  let  that  flea  stick,  come  you  with  me  to  her 
house," 


26 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


JSg,  she  would  not  go  where  she  was  sure  of  an  ill 
welcome.  "  Them  that  come  unbidden  sit  unseated." 
No,  let  Denys  be  mediator,  and  bring  the  parties  to  a 
good  understanding.  He  undertook  the  office  at  once, 
and  with  great  pomp  and  confidence.  He  trotted  off  to 
Margaret  and  said,  "She-comrade,  I  met  this  day  a  friend 
of  thine." 

"  Thou  didst  look  into  the  Eotter,  then,  and  see  thy- 
self." 

"  Nay,  'twas  a  female,  and  one  that  seeks  thy  regard  ; 
'.twas  Catherine,  Gerard's  mother." 

"  Oh,  was  it  ?  "  said  Margaret :  "  then  you  may  tell 
her  she  comes  too  late.  There  was  a  time  I  longed  and 
longed  for  her ;  but  she  held  aloof  in  my  hour  of  most 
need,  so  now  we  will  be  as  we  ha'  been." 

Denys  tried  to  shake  this  resolution.  He  coaxed  her, 
but  she  was  bitter  and  sullen,  and  not  to  be  coaxed. 
Then  he  scolded  her  well ;  then  at  that  she  went  into 
hysterics. 

He  was  frightened  at  this  result  of  his  eloquence, 
and,  being  off  his  guard,  allowed  himself  to  be  entrapped 
into  a  solemn  promise  never  to  recur  to  the  subject.  He 
went  back  to  Catherine  crestfallen,  and  told  her.  She 
fired  up  and  told  the  family  how  his  overtures  had  been 
received.  Then  they  fired  up;  it  became  a  feud  and 
burned  fiercer  every  day.  Little  Kate  alone  made  some 
excuses  for  Margaret. 

The  very  next  day  another  visitor  came  to  Margaret, 
and  found  the  military  enslaved  and  degraded,  Martin 
up  to  his  elbows  in  soapsuds,  and  Denys  ironing  very 
clumsily,  and  Margaret  plaiting  ruffs,  but  with  a  mis- 
tress's eye  on  her  raw  levies.  To  these  there  entered  an 
old  man,  venerable  at  first  sight,  but  on  nearer  view  keen 
and  wizened. 

"  Ah,"  cried  Margaret,  then  swiftly  turned  her  back 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


27 


on  him  and  hid  her  face  with  invincible  repugnance. 
"  Oh,  that  man  !  that  man  !  " 

"Nay,  fear  me  not,"  said  Ghysbrecht;  "I  come  on  a 
friend's  errand.    I  bring  ye  a  letter  from  foreign  parts." 

"  Mock  me  not,  old  man ; "  and  she  turned  slowly 
round. 

"Nay,  see,"  and  he  held  out  an  enormous  letter. 
Margaret  darted  on  it,  and  held  it  with  trembling  hands 
and  glistening  eyes.    It  was  Gerard's  handwriting. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  sir,  bless  you  for  this.  I  forgive  you 
all  the  ill  you  ever  wrought  me."  And  she  pressed  the 
letter  to  her  bosom  with  one  hand,  and  glided  swiftly 
from  the  room  with  it. 

As  she  did  not  come  back,  Ghysbrecht  went  away,  but 
not  without  a  scowl  at  Martin.  Margaret  was  hours 
alone  with  her  letter. 


28  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER  III. 

When  she  came  down  again  she  was  a  changed  woman. 
Her  eyes  were  wet,  but  calm,  and  all  her  bitterness  and 
excitement  charmed  away. 

"  Denys,"  said  she  softly,  "  I  have  got  my  orders.  I 
am  to  read  my  lover's  letter  to  his  folk." 

"  Ye  will  never  do  that." 

"Ay  will  I." 

"  I  see  there  is  something  in  the  letter  has  softened 
ye  towards  them." 

"Not  a  jot,  Denys,  not  a  jot.  But  an  I  hated  them 
like  poison  I  would  not  disobey  my  love.  Denys,  'tis 
so  sweet  toVbey,  and  sweetest  of  all  to  obey  one  who  is 
far,  far  away,  and  cannot  enforce  my  duty,  but  must 
trust  my  love  for  my  obedience.  Ah,  Gerard,  my  darling, 
at  hand  I  might  have  slighted  thy  commands,  misliking 
thy  folk  as  I  have  cause  to  do ;  but  now,  didst  bid  me  go 
into  the  raging  sea  and  read  thy  sweet  letter  to  the 
sharks,  there  I'd  go.  Therefore,  Denys,  tell  his  mother 
I  have  got  a  letter,  and  if  she  and  hers  would  hear  it,  I 
am  their  servant ;  let  them  say  their  hour,  and  I'll  seat 
them  as  best  I  can,  and  welcome  them  as  best  I  may." 

Denys  went  off  to  Catherine  with  this  good  news.  He 
found  the  family  at  dinner,  and  told  them  there  was  a 
long  letter  from  Gerard.  Then  in  the  midst  of  the  joy 
this  caused,  he  said,  "  And  her  heart  is  softened,  and  she 
will  read  it  to  you  herself ;  you  are  to  choose  your  own 
time." 

"  What,  does  she  think  there  are  none  can  read  but 
her  ?  "  asked  Catherine.  "  Let  her  send  the  letter,  and 
we  will  read  it." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  29 


"Nay,  but,  mother,"  objected  little  Kate,  "mayhap  she 
cannot  bear  to  part  it  from  her  hand :  she  loves  him 
dearly." 

"  What,  thinks  she  we  shall  steal  it  ?  " 

Cornells  suggested  that  she  would  fain  wedge  herself 
into  the  family  by  means  of  this  letter. 

Denys  cast  a  look  of  scorn  on  the  speaker.  "  There 
spoke  a  bad  heart,"  said  he.  "  La  Camarade  hates  you 
all  like  poison.  Oh,  mistake  me  not,  dame.  I  defend 
her  not,  but  so  'tis  ;  yet  maugre  her  spleen,  at  a  word 
from  Gerard  she  proffers  to  read  you  his  letter  with  her 
own  pretty  mouth,  and  hath  a  voice  like  honey  —  sure 
'tis  a  fair  proffer." 

"  'Tis  so,  mine  honest  soldier,"  said  the  father  of  the 
family,  "  and  merits  a  civil  reply  ;  therefore  hold  your 
whisht,  ye  that  be  women,  and  I  shall  answer  her.  Tell 
her  I,  his  father,  setting  aside  all  past  grudges,  do  for 
this  grace  thank  her,  and,  would  she  have  double  thanks, 
let  her  send  my  son's  letter  by  thy  faithful  hand,  the 
which  will  I  read  to  his  flesh  and  blood,  and  will  then 
to  her  so  surely  and  faithfully  return,  as  I  am  Eli  a 
Dierich  a  William  a  Luke,  free  burgher  of  Tergou,  like 
my  forbears,  and,  like  them,  a  man  of  my  word." 

"  Ay,  and  a  man  who  is  better  than  his  word,"  cried 
Catherine  ;  "  the  only  one  I  ever  did  foregather." 

"  Hold  thy  peace,  wife." 

"  Art  a  man  of  sense,  Eli,  a  dirk,  a  chose,  a  chose," 1 
shouted  Denys.  "The  she-comrade  will  be  right  glad 
to  obey  Gerard  and  yet  not  face  you  all,  whom  she  hates 
as  wormwood,  saving  your  presence.  Bless  ye !  the 
world  hath  changed,  she  is  all  submission  to-day  :  1  Obe- 
dience is  honey,'  quoth  she ;  and  in  sooth  'tis  a  sweet- 
meat she  cannot  but  savor,  eating  so  little  on't,  for  what 
with  her  fair  face,  and  her  mellow  tongue ;  and  what 

1  Anglic^,  a  Thing-em-bob. 


30 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


wi'  ffying  in  fits  and  terrifying  us  that  be  soldiers  to 
death,  an  we  thwart  her ;  and  what  wi'  chiding  us  one 
while,  and  petting  us  like  lambs  t'other,  she  hath  made 
two  of  the  crawlingest  slaves  ever  you  saw  out  of  two 
honest  swashbucklers.  I  be  the  ironing  ruffian,  t'other 
washes." 

"  What  next  ?  " 

"  What  next  ?  why,  whenever  the  brat  is  in  the  world 
I  shall  rock  cradle,  and  t'other  knave  will  wash  tucker 
and  bib.  So  then,  I'll  go  fetch  the  letter  on  the  instant. 
Ye  will  let  me  bide  and  hear  it  read,  will  ye  not  ?  " 

"  Else  our  hearts  were  black  as  coal,"  said  Catherine. 

So  Denys  went  for  the  letter.  He  came  back  crest- 
fallen. "  She  will  not  let  it  out  of  her  hand  neither  to 
me  nor  you,  nor  any  he  or  she  that  lives." 

"  I  knew  she  would  not,"  said  Cornells. 

"  Whisht !  whisht !  "  said  Eli,  "  and  let  Denys  tell  his 
story." 

"'Nay,'  said  I,  'but  be  ruled  by  me.'  'Not  I,'  quoth 
she.  'Well,  but,'  quoth  I,  'that  same  honey  Obedience 
ye  spake  of.'  — '  You  are  a  fool,'  says  she ;  '  obedience  to 
Gerard  is  sweet,  but  obedience  to  any  other  body,  —  who 
ever  said  that  was  sweet  ?  ' 

"  At  last  she  seemed  to  soften  a  bit,  and  did  give  me 
a  written  paper  for  you,  mademoiselle.    Here  'tis." 

"  For  me  ?  "  said  little  Kate  coloring. 

"  Give  that  here  !  "  said  Eli ;  and  he  scanned  the  writ- 
ing, and  said  almost  in  a  whisper,  "  These  be  words  from 
the  letter.    Hearken  ! 

" '  And,  sweetheart,  an  if  these  lines  should  travel 
safe  to  thee,  make  thou  trial  of  my  people's  hearts 
withal.  Maybe  they  are  somewhat  turned  towards  me, 
being  far  away.  If  'tis  so,  they  will  show  it  to  thee, 
since  now  to  me  they  may  not.  Read,  then,  this  letter  ! 
But  I  do  strictly  forbid  thee  to  let  it  from  thy  hand; 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


31 


and  if  they  still  hold  aloof  from  thee,  why,  then  say 
nought,  but  let  them  think  me  dead.  Obey  me  in  this ; 
for  if  thou  dost  disrespect  my  judgment  and  my  will  in 
this,  thou  lovest  me  not.' " 

There  was  a  silence,  and  Gerard's  words  copied  by 
Margaret  were  handed  round  and  inspected. 

"  Well,"  said  Catherine,  "  that  is  another  matter.  But 
methinks  'tis  for  her  to  come  to  us,  not  we  to  her." 

"  Alas,  mother  !  what  odds  does  that  make  ?  " 

"  Much,"  said  Eli.  "  Tell  her  we  are  over  many  to 
come  to  her,  and  bid  her  hither,  the  sooner  the  better." 

When  Denys  was  gone,  Eli  owned  it  was  a  bitter  pill 
to  him.  "  When  that  lass  shall  cross  my  threshold,  all 
the  mischief  and  misery  she  hath  made  here  will  seem 
to  come  in  a-doors  in  one  heap.  But  what  could  I  do, 
wife  ?  We  must  hear  the  news  of  Gerard.  I  saw  that 
in  thine  eyes,  and  felt  it  in  my  own  heart.  And  she  is 
backed  by  our  undutiful  but  still  beloved  son,  and  so  is 
she  stronger  than  we,  and  brings  our  noses  down  to  the 
grindstone,  the  sly,  cruel  jade  !  But  never  heed.  We 
will  hear  the  letter,  and  then  let  her  go  unblessed,  as  she 
came  unwelcome." 

"  Make  your  mind  easy,"  said  Catherine.  "  She  will 
not  come  at  all."    And  a  tone  of  regret  was  visible. 

Shortly  after,  Richart,  who  had  been  hourly  expected, 
arrived  from  Amsterdam  grave  and  dignified  in  his 
burgher's  robe  and  gold  chain,  ruff*,  and  furred  cap,  and 
was  received  not  with  affection  only,  but  respect,  for  he 
had  risen  a  step  higher  than  his  parents  ;  and  such  steps 
were  marked  in  mediaeval  society  almost  as  visibly  as 
those  in  their  staircases. 

Admitted  in  due  course  to  the  family  council,  he 
showed  plainly,  though  not  discourteously,  that  his  pride 
was  deeply  wounded  by  their  having  deigned  to  treat 
with  Margaret  Brandt.    "  I  see  the  temptation,"  said  he. 


32 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  But  which  of  us  hath  not  at  times  to  wish  one  way 
and  do  another  ?  " 

This  threw  a  considerable  chill  over  the  old  people. 
So  little  Kate  put  in  a  word.  "  Vex  not  thyself,  dear 
Richart.    Mother  says  she  will  not  come." 

"All  the  better,  sweetheart.  I  fear  me,  if  she  do,  I 
shall  hie  me  back  to  Amsterdam." 

Here  Denys  popped  his  head  in  at  the  door,  and  said, 
"  She  will  be  here  at  three  on  the  great  dial." 

They  all  looked  at  one  another  in  silence. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  33 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  Nay,  Richart,"  said  Catherine  at  last,  "  for  Heaven's 
sake  let  not  this  one  sorry  wench  set  us  all  by  the  ears : 
hath  she  not  made  ill  blood  enough  already  ?  " 

"  In  very  deed  she  hath.  Fear  me  not,  good  mother. 
Let  her  come  and  read  the  letter  of  the  poor  boy  she 
hath  by  devilish  arts  bewitched,  and  then  let  her  go. 
Give  me  your  words  to  show  her  no  countenance  beyond 
decent  and  constrained  civility ;  less  we  may  not,  being 
in  our  own  house ;  and  I  will  say  no  more."  On  this 
understanding  they  awaited  the  foe.  She,  for  her  part, 
prepared  for  the  interview  in  a  spirit  little  less  hostile. 

When  Denys  brought  word  they  would  not  come  to 
her,  but  would  receive  her,  her  lip  curled,  and  she  bade 
him  observe  how  in  them  every  feeling,  however  small, 
was  larger  than  the  love  for  Gerard.  "  Well,"  said  she, 
"I  have  not  that  excuse;  so  why  mimic  the  petty 
burgher's  pride,  the  pride  of  all  unlettered  folk  ?  I  will 
go  to  them  for  Gerard's  sake.    Oh,  how  I  loathe  them  ! " 

Thus  poor  good-natured  Denys  was  bringing  into  one 
house  the  materials  of  an  explosion. 

Margaret  made  her  toilet  in  the  same  spirit  that  a 
knight  of  her  day  dressed  for  battle  —  he  to  parry  blows, 
and  she  to  parry  glances  —  glances  of  contempt  at  her 
poverty,  or  of  irony  at  her  extravagance.  Her  kirtle 
was  of  English  cloth,  dark  blue,  and  her  farthingale  and 
hose  of  the  same  material,  but  a  glossy  roan,  or  claret 
color.  Not  an  inch  of  pretentious  fur  about  her,  but 
plain  snowy  linen  wristbands,  and  curiously-plaited  linen 
from  the  bosom  of  the  kirtle  up  to  the  commence- 


34  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


ment  of  the  throat;  it  did  not  encircle  her  throat,  but 
framed  it,  being  square,  not  round.  Her  front  hair  still 
peeped  in  two  waves  much  after  the  fashion  which  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots  revived  a  century  later ;  but  instead  of 
the  silver  net,  which  would  have  ill  become  her  present 
condition,  the  rest  of  her  head  was  covered  with  a  very 
small  tight-fitting  hood  of  dark  blue  cloth,  hemmed  with 
silver.  Her  shoes  were  red  ;  but  the  roan  petticoat  and 
hose  prepared  the  spectator's  mind  for  the  shock,  and 
they  set  off  the  arched  instep  and  shapely  foot. 

Beauty  knew  its  business  then  as  now. 

And  with  all  this  she  kept  her  enemies  waiting, 
though  it  was  three  by  the  dial. 

At  last  she  started,  attended  by  her  he-comrade.  And 
when  they  were  half  way,  she  stopped,  and  said  thought- 
fully, " Denys  ! " 

"  Well,  she-general  ?  " 

"  I  must  go  home  "  (piteously). 

"  What !  have  ye  left  somewhat  behind  ?  " 

"Ay." 

"What?" 

"  My  courage.    Oh  !  oh !  oh  ! " 

"Nay,  nay,  be  brave,  she-general.  I  shall  be  with 
you." 

"  Ay,  but  wilt  keep  close  to  me  when  I  be  there  ?  " 
Denys  promised,  and  she  resumed  her  march,  but 
gingerly. 

Meantime  they  were  all  assembled,  and  waiting  for 
her  with  a  strange  mixture  of  feelings. 

Mortification,  curiosity,  panting  affection,  aversion  to 
her  who  came  to  gratify  those  feelings,  yet  another 
curiosity  to  see  what  she  was  like,  and  what  there  was 
in  her  to  bewitch  Gerard,  and  make  so  much  mischief. 

At  last  Denys  came  alone,  and  whispered,  "  The  she- 
comrade  is  without." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


35 


"Fetch  her  in,"  said  Eli.  "Now  whisht,  all  of  ye. 
None  speak  to  her  but  I." 

They  all  turned  their  eyes  to  the  door  in  dead  silence. 

A  little  muttering  was  heard  outside ;  Denys's  rough 
organ,  and  a  woman's  soft  and  mellow  voice. 

Presently  that  stopped ;  and  then  the  door  opened 
slowly,  and  Margaret  Brandt,  dressed  as  I  have  de- 
scribed, and  somewhat  pale,  but  calm  and  lovely,  stood 
on  the  threshold,  looking  straight  before  her. 

They  all  rose  but  Kate,  and  remained  mute  and  staring. 

"  Be  seated,  mistress,"  said  Eli,  gravely,  and  motioned 
to  a  seat  that  had  been  set  apart  for  her. 

She  inclined  her  head,  and  crossed  the  apartment; 
and  in  so  doing  her  condition  was  very  visible,  not  only 
in  her  shape,  but  in  her  languor. 

Cornells  and  Sybrandt  hated  her  for  it.  Richart 
thought  it  spoiled  her  beauty. 

It  softened  the  women  somewhat. 

She  took  her  letter  out  of  her  bosom,  and  kissed  it 
as  if  she  had  been  alone ;  then  disposed  herself  to  read 
it  with  the  air  of  one  who  knew  she  was  there  for  that 
single  purpose. 

But,  as  she  began,  she  noticed  they  had  seated  her  all 
by  herself  like  a  leper.  She  looked  at  Denys,  and  put- 
ting her  hand  down  by  her  side,  made  him  a  swift  fur- 
tive motion  to  come  by  her. 

He  went  with  an  obedient  start  as  if  she  had  cried 
"  March  !  "  and  stood  at  her  shoulder  like  a  sentinel ; 
but  this  zealous  manner  of  doing  it  revealed  to  the  com- 
pany that  he  had  been  ordered  thither  ;  and  at  that  she 
colored.  And  now  she  began  to  read  her  Gerard,  their 
Gerard,  to  their  eager  ears,  in  a  mellow  but  clear  voice, 
so  soft,  so  earnest,  so  thrilling,  her  very  soul  seemed  to 
cling  about  each  precious  sound.  It  was  a  voice  as  of  a 
woman's  bosom  set  speaking  by  Heaven  itself. 


36  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  I  do  nothing  doubt,  my  Margaret,  that,  long  ere  this 
shall  meet  thy  beloved  eyes,  Denys,  my  most  dear  friend, 
will  have  sought  thee  out,  and  told  thee  the  manner  of 
our  unlooked-for  and  most  tearful  parting.  Therefore  I 
will  e'en  begin  at  that  most  doleful  day.  What  befell 
him  after,  poor  faithful  soul,  fain,  fain  would  I  hear,  but 
may  not.  But  I  pray  for  him  day  and  night,  next  after 
thee,  dearest.  Friend  more  stanch  and  loving  had  not 
David  in  Jonathan  than  I  in  him.  Be  good  to  him  for 
poor  Gerard's  sake." 

At  these  words,  which  came  quite  unexpectedly  to 
him,  Denys  leaned  his  head  on  Margaret's  high  chair, 
and  groaned  aloud. 

She  turned  quickly  as  she  sat,  and  found  his  hand,  and 
pressed  it. 

And  so  the  sweetheart  and  the  friend  held  hands  while 
the  sweetheart  read. 

"  I  went  forward  all  dizzied,  like  one  in  an  ill  dream ; 
and  presently  a  gentleman  came  up  with  his  servants,  all 
on  horseback,  and  had  like  to  have  rid  o'er  me.  And  he 
drew  rein  at  the  brow  of  the  hill,  and  sent  his  armed 
men  back  to  rob  me.  They  robbed  me  civilly  enough ; 
and  took  my  purse  and  the  last  copper,  and  rid  gayly 
away.    I  wandered  stupid  on,  a  friendless  pauper." 

There  was  a  general  sigh,  followed  by  an  oath  from 
Denys. 

"  Presently  a  strange  dimness  came  o'er  me,  I  lay 
down  to  sleep  on  the  snow.  'Twas  ill  done,  and  with 
store  of  wolves  hard  by.  Had  I  loved  thee  as  thou  dost 
deserve,  I  had  shown  more  manhood.  But  oh,  sweet 
love,  the  drowsiness  that  did  crawl  o'er  me  desolate,  and 
benumb  me,  was  more  than  nature.  And  so  I  slept ;  and 
but  that  God  was  better  to  us  than  I  to  thee  or  to  my- 
self, from  that  sleep  I  ne'er  had  waked ;  so  all  do  say.  I 
had  slept  an  hour  or  two,  as  I  suppose,  but  no  more, 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  37 


when  a  hand  did  shake  me  rudely.  I  awoke  to  my 
troubles.  And  there  stood  a  servant  girl  in  her  holiday 
suit.  '  Are  ye  mad/  quoth  she,  in  seeming  choler,  'to 
sleep  in  snow,  and  under  wolves'  nosen  ?  Art  weary  o' 
life,  and  not  long  weaned  ?  Come,  now,'  said  she,  more 
kindly,  '  get  up  like  a  good  lad ; '  so  I  did  rise  up.  <  Are 
ye  rich,  or  are  ye  poor  ? '  But  I  stared  at  her  as  one 
amazed.  '  Why,  'tis  easy  of  reply,'  quoth  she.  '  Are  ye 
rich,  or  are  ye  poor  ? '  Then  I  gave  a  great  loud  cry ; 
that  she  did  start  back.  '  Am  I  rich,  or  am  I  poor  ? 
Had  ye  asked  me  an  hour  agone,  I  had  said  I  am  rich. 
But  now  I  am  so  poor  as  sure  earth  beareth  on  her 
bosom  none  poorer.  An  hour  agone  I  was  rich  in  a 
friend,  rich  in  money,  rich  in  hope  and  spirits  of  youth; 
but  now  the  Bastard  of  Burgundy  hath  taken  my  friend, 
and  another  gentleman  my  purse ;  and  I  can  neither  go 
forward  to  Rome  nor  back  to  her  I  left  in  Holland.  I 
am  poorest  of  the  poor.'  '  Alack ! '  said  the  wench. 
'  Natheless,  an  ye  had  been  rich  ye  might  ha'  lain  down 
again  in  the  snow  for  any  use  I  had  for  ye ;  and  then  I 
trow  ye  had  soon  fared  out  o'  this  world  as  bare  as  ye 
came  into 't.  But,  being  poor,  you  are  our  man ;  so  come 
wi'  me.  Then  I  went  because  she  bade  me,  and  because 
I  recked  not  now  whither  I  went.  And  she  took  me  to 
a  fine  house  hard  by,  and  into  a  noble  dining-hall  hung 
with  black ;  and  there  was  set  a  table  with  many  dishes, 
and  but  one  plate  and  one  chair.  c  Fall  to  ! '  said  she,  in 
a  whisper.  '  What,  alone  ?  '  said  I.  *  Alone  ?  And 
which  of  us,  think  ye,  would  eat  out  of  the  same  dish 
with  ye  ?  Are  we  robbers  o'  the  dead  ? '  Then  she 
speered  where  I  was  born.  ' At  Tergou,'  said  I.  Says 
she,  '  and  when  a  gentleman  dies  in  that  country,  serve 
they  not  the  dead  man's  dinner  up  as  usual,  till  he  be  in 
the  ground,  and  set  some  poor  man  down  to  it  ? '  I  told 
her,  nay.    She  blushed  for  us  then.    1  Here  they  were 


38 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


better  Christians.'  So  I  behooved  to  sit  down.  But 
small  was  my  heart  for  meat.  Then  this  kind  lass  sat 
by  me  and  poured  me  out  wine ;  and,  tasting  it,  it  cut 
me  to  the  heart  Denys  was  not  there  to  drink  with  me. 
He  doth  so  love  good  wine,  and  women  good,  bad,  or 
indifferent.  The  rich,  strong  wine  curled  round  my  sick 
heart ;  and  that  day  first  I  did  seem  to  glimpse  why  folk 
in  trouble  run  to  drink  so.  She  made  me  eat  of  every 
dish.  '  'Twas  unlucky  to  pass  one.  Nought  was  here 
but  her  master's  daily  dinner.'  'He  had  a  good  stomach, 
then,'  said  I.  '  Ay,  lad,  and  a  good  heart.  Leastways, 
so  we  all  say  now  he  is  dead ;  but,  being  alive,  no  word 
on't  e'er  heard  I.'  So  I  did  eat  as  a  bird,  nibbling  of 
every  dish.  And  she  hearing  me  sigh,  and  seeing  me 
like  to  choke  at  the  food,  took  pity  and  bade  me  be  of 
good  cheer.  I  should  sup  and  lie  there  that  night.  And 
she  went  to  the  hind,  and  he  gave  me  a  right  good  bed ; 
and  I  told  him  all,  and  asked  him  would  the  law  give 
me  back  my  purse.  '  Law  ! '  quoth  he  ;  '  law  there  was 
none  for  the  poor  in  Burgundy.  Why,  'twas  the  cousin 
of  the  lady  of  the  manor,  he  that  had  robbed  me.  He 
knew  the  wild  spark.  The  matter  must  be  judged  before 
the  lady;  and  she  was  quite  young,  and  far  more  like 
to  hang  me  for  slandering  her  cousin,  and  a  gentleman, 
and  a  handsome  man,  than  to  make  him  give  me  back  my 
own.  Inside  the  liberties  of  a  town  a  poor  man  might 
now  and  then  see  the  face  of  justice ;  but  out  among  the 
grand  seigneurs  and  dames  —  never.  So  I  said,  'I'll  sit 
down  robbed  rather  than  seek  justice  and  find  gallows.' 
They  were  all  most  kind  to  me  next  day  :  and  the  girl 
proffered  me  money  from  her  small  wage  to  help  me 
towards  Bhine." 

"  Oh,  then,  he  is  coming  home  !  he  is  coming  home  ! " 
shouted  Denys,  interrupting  the  reader.  She  shook  her 
head  gently  at  him,  by  way  of  reproof. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  39 


"  I  beg  pardon,  all  the  company,"  said  he  stiffly. 

"'Twas  a  sore  temptation;  but,  being  a  servant,  my 
stomach  rose  against  it.  '  Nay,  nay/  said  I.  She  told 
me  I  was  wrong.  'Twas  pride  out  o'  place ;  poor  folk 
should  help  one  another ;  or  who  on  earth  would  ?  I 
said  if  I  could  do  aught  in  return  'twere  well ;  but  for 
a  free  gift,  nay ;  I  was  overmuch  beholden  already. 
Should  I  write  a  letter  for  her  ?  <  Nay,  he  is  in  the 
house  at  present/  said  she.  £  Should  I  draw  her  picture, 
and  so  earn  my  money  ?  '  '  What,  can  ye  ?  '  said  she. 
I  told  her  I  could  try ;  and  her  habit  would  well  become 
a  picture.  So  she  was  agog  to  be  limned,  and  give  it  her 
lad.  And  I  set  her  to  stand  in  a  good  light,  and  soon 
made  sketches  two,  whereof  I  send  thee  one,  colored  at 
odd  hours.  The  other  I  did  most  hastily  and  with  little 
conscience  daub,  for  which  may  Heaven  forgive  me ;  but 
time  was  short.  They,  poor  things,  knew  no  better,  and 
were  most  proud  and  joyous  ;  and,  both  kissing  me  after 
their  country  fashion,  'twas  the  hind  that  was  her  sweet- 
heart, they  did  bid  me  God-speed ;  and  I  towards  Rhine." 

Margaret  paused  here,  and  gave  Denys  the  colored 
drawing  to  hand  round.  It  was  eagerly  examined  by  the 
females  on  account  of  the  costume,  which  differed  in 
some  respects  from  that  of  a  Dutch  domestic ;  the  hair 
was  in  a  tight  linen  bag,  a  yellow  half  kerchief  crossed 
her  head  from  ear  to  ear,  but  threw  out  a  rectangular 
point  that  descended  to  the  centre  of  her  forehead,  and  it 
met  in  two  more  points  over  her  bosom.  She  wore  a  red 
kirtle  with  long  sleeves,  kilted  very  high  in  front,  and 
showing  a  green  farthingale  and  a  great  red  leather 
purse  hanging  down  over  it;  red  stockings,  yellow 
leathern  shoes,  ahead  of  her  age ;  for  they  were  low- 
quartered  and  square-toed,  secured  by  a  strap  buckling 
over  the  instep,  which  was  not  uncommon,  and  was  per* 
haps  the  rude  germ  of  the  diamond  buckle  to  come. 


40  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


Margaret  continued :  — 

"But,  oh!  how  I  missed  my  Denys  at  every  step! 
often  I  sat  down  on  the  road  and  groaned.  And  in  the 
afternoon  it  chanced  that  I  did  so  set  me  down  where 
two  roads  met,  and  with  heavy  head  in  hand,  and  heavy 
heart,  did  think  of  thee,  my  poor  sweetheart,  and  of  my 
lost  friend,  and  of  the  little  house  at  Tergou,  where  they 
all  loved  me  once ;  though  now  it  is  turned  to  hate." 

Catherine.    Alas  !  that  he  will  think  so. 

Ell    Whisht,  wife  ! 

"And  I  did  sigh  loud,  and  often.  And  me  sighing  so, 
one  came  carolling  like  a  bird  adown  t'other  road.  6  Ay, 
chirp  and  chirp,'  cried  I  bitterly.  '  Thou  hast  not  lost 
sweetheart,  and  friend,  thy  father's  hearth,  thy  mother's 
smile,  and  every  penny  in  the  world.'  And  at  last  he 
did  so  carol,  and  carol,  I  jumped  up  in  ire  to  get  away 
from  his  most  jarring  mirth.  But,  ere  I  fled  from  it,  I 
looked  down  the  path  to  see  what  could  make  a  man  so 
light-hearted  in  this  weary  world  ;  and  lo  !  the  songster 
was  a  humpbacked  cripple,  with  a  bloody  bandage  o'er 
his  eye,  and  both  legs  gone  at  the  knee." 

"  He,  he,  he,  he,  he  ! "  went  Sybrandt,  laughing  and 
cackling. 

Margaret's  eyes  flashed ;  she  began  to  fold  the  letter 
up. 

"  Kay,  lass,"  said  Eli,  "  heed  him  not !  Thou  unman- 
nerly cur,  offer't  but  again,  and  I  put  thee  to  the  door." 

"  Why,  what  was  there  to  gibe  at,  Sybrandt  ?  "  remon- 
strated Catherine,  more  mildly.  "  Is  not  our  Kate 
afflicted  ?  and  is  she  not  the  most  content  of  us  all,  and 
singeth  like  a  merle  a;t  times  between  her  pains  ?  But 
I  am  as  bad  as  thou ;  prithee  read  on,  lass,  and  stop  our 
gabble  wi'  somewhat  worth  the  hearkening." 

"  '  Then,'  said  I,  '  may  this  thing  be  ? '  And  I  took 
myself  to  task.    '  Gerard,  son  of  Eli,  dost  thou  well  to 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


41 


bemoan  thy  lot,  that  hast  youth  and  health ;  and  here 
comes  the  wreck  of  nature  on  crutches,  praising  God's 
goodness  with  singing  like  a  mavis  ?  '  " 

Catherine.    There,  you  see. 

Eli.    Whisht,  dame,  whisht ! 

"  And  whenever  he  saw  me,  he  left  carolling  and  pres- 
ently hobbled  up  and  chanted,  '  Charity,  for  love  of 
Heaven,  sweet  master,  charity/  with  a  whine  as  piteous 
as  wind  at  keyhole.  '  Alack,  poor  soul/  said  I,  '  charity 
is  in  my  heart,  but  not  my  purse  ;  I  am  poor  as  thou.' 
Then  he  believed  me  none,  and  to  melt  me  undid  his 
sleeve,  and  showed  a  sore  wound  on  his  arm,  and  said  he, 
'  Poor  cripple  though  I  be,  I  am  like  to  lose  this  eye  to 
boot,  look  else.'  I  saw  and  groaned  for  him,  and  to 
excuse  myself  let  him  wot  how  I  had  been  robbed  of 
my  last  copper.  Thereat  he  left  whining  all  in  a 
moment,  and  said,  in  a  big  manly  voice,  1  Then  I'll  e'en 
take  a  rest.  Here,  youngster,  pull  thou  this  strap ;  nay, 
fear  not ! '  I  pulled,  and  down  came  a  stout  pair  of  legs 
out  of  his  back ;  and  half  his  hump  had  melted  away, 
and  the  wound  in  his  eye  no  deeper  than  the  bandage." 

"Oh  !  "  ejaculated  Margaret's  hearers,  in  a  body. 

"  Whereat,  seeing  me  astounded,  he  laughed  in  my 
face,  and  told  me  I  was  not  worth  gulling,  and  offered 
me  his  protection.  'My  face  was  prophetic/  he  said. 
'  Of  what  ?  '  said  I.  '  Marry/  said  he,  '  that  its  owner 
will  starve  in  this  thievish  land.'  Travel  teaches  e'en 
the  young  wisdom.  Time  was,  I  had  turned  and  fled  this 
impostor  as  a  pestilence  ;  but  now  I  listened  patiently  to 
pick  up  crumbs  of  counsel.  And  well  I  did ;  for  nature 
and  his  adventurous  life  had  crammed  the  poor  knave 
with  shrewdness  and  knowledge  of  the  homelier  sort  — 
a  child  was  I  beside  him.  When  he  had  turned  me 
inside  out,  said  he,  1  Didst  well  to  leave  France  and  make 
for  Germany ;  but  think  not  of  Holland  again.    Nay,  on 


42 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


to  Augsburg  and  Nurnberg,  the  paradise  of  craftsmen : 
thence  to  Venice,  an  thou  wilt.  But  thou  wilt  never  bide 
in  Italy  nor  any  other  land,  having  once  tasted  the  great 
German  cities.  Why,  there  is  but  one  honest  country 
in  Europe,  and  that  is  Germany;  and  since  thou  art 
honest,  and  since  I  am  a  vagabone,  Germany  was  made 
for  us  twain.'  I  bade  him  make  that  good :  how  might 
one  country  fit  true  men  and  knaves  !  '  Why,  thou  nov- 
ice/ said  he,  'because  in  an  honest  land  are  fewer  knaves 
to  bite  the  honest  man,  and  many  honest  men  for  the 
knave  to  bite.  I  was  in  luck,  being  honest,  to  have 
fallen  in  with  a  friendly  sharp.  Be  my  pal,'  said  he ; 
'  I  go  to  Nurnberg :  we  will  reach  it  with  full  pouches. 
I'll  learn  ye  the  cut  de  bois,  and  the  cul  dejatte,  and  how 
to  maund,  and  chaunt,  and  patter,  and  to  raise  swellings, 
and  paint  sores  and  ulcers  on  thy  body  would  take  in  the 
divell.'  I  told  him,  shivering,  I'd  liever  die  than  shame 
myself  and  my  folk  so." 
Mi.    Good  lad !  good  lad ! 

"  Why,  what  shame  was  it  for  such  as  I  to  turn  beg- 
gar ?  Beggary  was  an  ancient  and  most  honorable  mys- 
tery. What  did  holy  monks,  and  bishops,  and  kings, 
when  they  would  win  Heaven's  smile  ?  why,  wash  the 
feet  of  beggars,  those  favorites  of  the  saints.  'The 
saints  were  no  fools,'  he  told  me.  Then  he  did  put  out 
his  foot.  '  Look  at  that !  that  was  washed  by  the  great- 
est king  alive,  Louis  of  France,  the  last  Holy  Thursday 
that  was.  And  the  next  day,  Friday,  clapped  in  the 
stocks  by  the  warden  of  a  petty  hamlet.'  So  I  told  him 
my  foot  should  walk  between  such  high  honor  and  such 
low  disgrace,  on  the  safe  path  of  honesty,  please  God. 
Well,  then,  since  I  had  not  spirit  to  beg,  he  would  in- 
dulge my  perversity.  I  should  work  under  him  ;  he  be 
the  head,  I  the  fingers.  And  with  that  he  set  himself 
up  like  a  judge,  on  a  heap  of  dust  by  the  road's  side,  and 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  43 


questioned  me  strictly  what  I  could  do.  I  began  to  say 
I  was  strong  and  willing.  '  Bah ! '  said  he,  '  so  is  an 
ox.  Say,  what  canst  do  that  Sir  Ox  cannot  ?  '  I  could 
write ;  I  had  won  a  prize  for  it.  1  Canst  write  as  fast 
as  the  printers?'  quo'  he  jeering.  '  What  else?'  I 
could  paint.  '  That  was  better.'  I  was  like  to  tear  my 
hair  to  hear  him  say  so,  and  me  going  to  Rome  to  write. 
I  could  twang  the  psaltery  a  bit.  'That  was  well. 
Could  I  tell  stories  ?  '  Ay,  by  the  score.  1  Then,'  said 
he,  '  I  hire  you  from  this  moment.'  '  What  to  do  ?  '  said 
I.  '  Nought  crooked,  Sir  Candor,'  says  he.  ' 1  will  feed 
thee  all  the  way  and  find  thee  work  ;  and  take  half  thine 
earnings  no  more.'  '  Agreed,'  said  I,  and  gave  my  hand 
on  it.  '  Now,  servant,'  said  he,  '  we  will  dine.  But  ye 
need  not  stand  behind  my  chair,  for  two  reasons  :  first,  I 
ha'  got  no  chair,  and  next,  good  fellowship  likes  me 
better  than  state.'  And  out  of  his  wallet  he  brought 
flesh,  fowl,  and  pastry,  a  good  dozen  of  spices  lapped  in 
flax  paper,  and  wine  fit  for  a  king.  Ne'er  feasted  I 
better  than  out  of  this  beggar's  wallet,  now  my  master. 
When  we  had  well  eaten,  I  was  for  going  on.  '  But, 
said  he,  1  servants  should  not  drive  their  masters  too 
hard,  especially  after  feeding,  for  then  the  body  is  for 
repose,  and  the  mind  turns  to  contemplation;'  and  he 
lay  on  his  back  gazing  calmly  at  the  sky,  and  presently 
wondered  whether  there  were  any  beggars  up  there.  I 
told  him  I  knew  but  of  one ;  called  Lazarus.  < Could 
he  do  the  cut  dejatte  better  than  I  ? '  said  he,  and  looked 
quite  jealous  like.  I  told  him  nay;  Lazarus  was  honest, 
though  a  beggar,  and  fed  daily  of  the  crumbs  fal'n  from 
a  rich  man's  table,  and  the  dogs  licked  his  sores.  '  Serv- 
ant,' quo'  he,  'I  spy  a  foul  fault  in  thee.  Thou  liest 
without  discretion  :  now  the  end  of  lying  being  to  gull, 
this  is  no  better  than  fumbling  with  the  divell's  tail.  I 
pray  Heaven  thou  mayest  prove  to  paint  better  than 


44  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

thou  cuttest  whids,  or  I  am  done  out  of  a  dinner.  No 
beggar  eats  crumbs,  but  only  the  fat  of  the  land ;  and 
dogs  lick  not  a  beggar's  sores,  being  made  with  spear- 
wort,  or  ratsbane,  or  biting  acids,  from  all  which  dogs, 
and  even  pigs,  abhor.  My  sores  are  made  after  my 
proper  receipt ;  but  no  dog  would  lick  e'en  them  twice. 
I  have  made  a  scurvy  bargain ;  art  a  cozening  knave,  I 
doubt,  as  well  as  a  nincompoop.'  I  deigned  no  reply  to 
this  bundle  of  lies,  which  did  accuse  heavenly  truth  of 
falsehood  for  not  being  in  a  tale  with  him.  He  rose, 
and  we  took  the  road ;  and  presently  we  came  to  a  place 
where  were  two  little  wayside  inns,  scarce  a  furlong 
apart.  '  Halt,'  said  my  master.  '  Their  armories  are 
sore  faded  —  all  the  better.  Go  thou  in  ;  shun  the  mas- 
ter ;  board  the  wife ;  arid  flatter  her  inn  sky  high,  all 
but  the  armories,  and  offer  to  color  them  dirt  cheap.' 
So  I  went  in  and  told  the  wife  I  was  a  painter,  and 
would  revive  her  armories  cheap ;  but  she  sent  me  away 
with  a  rebuff.  I  to  my  master.  He  groaned.  '  Ye  are 
all  fingers  and  no  tongue,'  said  he ;  '  I  have  made  a 
scurvy  bargain.  Come  and  hear  me  patter  and  flatter.' 
Between  the  two  inns  was  a  high  hedge.  He  goes  be- 
hind it  a  minute,  and  comes  out  a  decent  tradesman. 
We  went  on  to  the  other  inn,  and  then  I  heard  him 
praise  it  so  fulsome  as  the  very  wife  did  blush.  '  But,' 
says  he,  '  there  is  one  little,  little  fault ;  your  armories 
are  dull  and  faded.  Say  but  the  word,  and  for  a  silver 
franc  my  apprentice  here,  the  cunningest  e'er  I  had,  shall 
make  them  bright  as  ever.'  Whilst  she  hesitated,  the 
rogue  told  her  he  had  done  it  to  a  little  inn  hard  by,  and 
now  the  inn's  face  was  like  the  starry  firmament.  '  D'ye 
hear  that,  my  man  ? 9  cries  she,  '  "  The  Three  Frogs  " 
have  been  and  painted  up  their  armories !  shall  "  The 
Four  Hedgehogs  "  be  outshone  by  them  ? '  So  I  painted, 
and  my  master  stood  by  like  a  lord,  advising  me  how  to 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  45 


do,  and  winking  to  me  to  heed  him  none,  and  I  got  a 
silver  franc.  And  he  took  me  back  to  'The  Three 
Frogs,'  and  on  the  way  put  me  on  a  beard  and  disguised 
me,  and  flattered  '  The  Three  Frogs,'  and  told  them  how 
he  had  adorned  '  The  Four  Hedgehogs,'  and  into  the  net 
jumped  the  three  poor  simple  frogs,  and  I  earned  another 
silver  franc.  Then  we  went  on,  and  he  found  his 
crutches,  and  sent  me  forward,  and  showed  his  '  cicatrices 
d'emprwntf  as  he  called  them,  and  all  his  infirmities,  at 
'  The  Four  Hedgehogs,'  and  got  both  food  and  money. 
'  Come,  share  and  share,'  quoth  he :  so  I  gave  him  one 
franc.  '  I  have  made  a  good  bargain,'  said  he.  '  Art  a 
master  limner,  but  takest  too  much  time.'  So  I  let  him 
know  that  in  matters  of  honest  craft  things  could  not 
be  done  quick  and  well.  '  Then  do  them  quick,'  quoth 
he.  And  he  told  me  my  name  was  Bon  Bee;  and  I 
might  call  him  Cul  de  Jatte,  because  that  was  his  lay  at 
our  first  meeting.  And  at  the  next  town,  my  master, 
Cul  de  Jatte,  bought  me  a  psaltery,  and  sat  himself  up 
again  by  the  roadside  in  state  like  him  that  erst  judged 
Marsyas  and  Apollo,  piping  for  vain  glory.  So  I  played 
a  strain.  '  Indifferent  well,  harmonious  Bon  Bee,'  said 
he  haughtily.  '  Now,  tune  thy  pipes.'  So  I  did  sing  a 
sweet  strain  the  good  monks  taught  me ;  and  singing  it 
reminded  poor  Bon  Bee,  Gerard  erst,  of  his  young  days 
and  home,  and  brought  the  water  to  my  een.  But,  look- 
ing up,  my  master's  visage  was  as  the  face  of  a  little  boy 
whipt  soundly,  or  sipping  foulest  medicine.  '  Zounds  ! 
stop  that  belly-ache  blether,'  quoth  he  ;  '  that  will  ne'er 
wile  a  stiver  out  o'  peasants'  purses  ;  'twill  but  sour  the 
nurses'  milk,  and  gar  the  kine  jump  into  rivers  to  be  out 
of  earshot  on't.  What,  false  knave,  did  I  buy  thee  a 
fine  new  psaltery  to  be  minded  o'  my  latter  end  withal  ? 
Hearken  !  these  be  the  songs  that  glad  the  heart,  and 
fill  the  minstrel's  purse.'    And  he  sung  so  blasphemous 


46 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


a  stave,  and  eke  so  obscene,  as  I  drew  away  from  him  a 
space  that  the  lightning  might  not  spoil  the  new  psal- 
tery. However,  none  came,  being  winter,  and  then  I 
said,  '  Master,  the  Lord  is  debonair.  Held  I  the  thun- 
der, yon  ribaldry  had  been  thy  last,  thou  foul-mouthed 
wretch.' 

" '  Why,  Bon  Bee,  what  is  to  do  ? '  quoth  he.  '  I  have 
made  an  ill  bargain.  Oh,  perverse  heart,  that  turneth 
from  doctrine/  So  I  bade  him  keep  his  breath  to  cool 
his  broth,  ne'er  would  I  shame  my  folk  with  singing 
ribald  songs.  '  Then,'  says  he  sulkily,  '  the  first  fire  we 
light  by  the  wayside,  clap  thou  on  the  music-box  !  so 
'twill  make  our  pot  boil  for  the  nonce ;  but  with  your 

Good  people  let  us  peak  and  pine, 

Cut  tristful  mugs,  and  miaul  and  whine, 

Thorough  our  nosen  chaunts  divine, 

never,  never,  never.  Ye  might  as  well  go  through 
Lorraine  crying  "  Mulleygrubs,  mulleygrubs,  who'll  buy 
my  mulleygrubs  ! " '  So  we  fared  on,  bad  friends.  But 
I  took  a  thought,  and  prayed  him  hum  me  one  of  his 
naughty  ditties  again.  Then  he  brightened,  and  broke 
forth  into  ribaldry  like  a  nightingale.  Finger  in  ears 
stuffed  I.  No  words;  nought  but  the  bare  melody. 
For  oh,  Margaret,  note  the  sly  malice  of  the  Evil  One'! 
Still  to  the  scurviest  matter  he  weddeth  the  tunablest 
ditties." 

Catherine.    That  is  true  as  Holy  Writ. 
Sybrandt.    How  know  you  that,  mother  ? 
Cornells.    He,  he,  he  ! 

Eli.  Whisht,  ye  uneasy  wights,  and  let  me  hear  the 
boy.    He  is  wiser  than  ye ;  wiser  than  his  years. 

" '  What  tomfoolery  is  this  ?  '  said  he ;  yet  he  yielded 
to  me,  and  soon  I  garnered  three  of  his  melodies ;  but 
I  would  not  let  Cul  de  Jatte  wot  the  thing  I  meditated. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  47 


'Show  not  fools  nor  bairns  unfinished  work/  saith  the 
byword.  And  by  this  time  'twas  night,  and  a  little  town 
at  hand,  where  we  went  each  to  his  inn ;  for  my  master 
would  not  yield  to  put  off  his  rags  and  other  sores  till 
morning ;  nor  I  to  enter  an  inn  with  a  tatterdemalion. 
So  we  were  to  meet  on  the  road  at  peep  of  day.  And, 
indeed,  we  still  lodged  apart,  meeting  at  morn  and  part- 
ing at  eve,  outside  each  town  we  lay  at.  And  waking 
at  midnight  and  cogitating,  good  thoughts  came  down  to 
me,  and  sudden  my  heart  was  enlightened.  I  called 
to  mind  that  my  Margaret  had  withstood  the  taking  of 
the  burgomaster's  purse.  'Tis  theft/  said  you;  6  dis- 
guise it  how  ye  will.'  But  I  must  be  wiser  than  my 
betters :  and  now  that  which  I  had  as  good  as  stolen, 
others  had  stolen  from  me.  As  it  came,  so  it  was  gone. 
Then  I  said,  1  Heaven  is  not  cruel,  but  just ; '  and  I 
vowed  a  vow,  to  repay  our  burgomaster  every  shilling 
an  I  could.  And  I  went  forth  in  the  morning  sad,  but 
hopeful.  I  felt  lighter  for  the  purse  being  gone.  My 
master  was  at  the  gate  becrutched.  I  told  him  I'd  liever 
have  seen  him  in  another  disguise.  '  Beggars  must  not 
be  choosers/  said  he.  However,  soon  he  bade  me  untruss 
him,  for  he  felt  sadly.  His  head  swam.  I  told  him, 
forcefully  to  deform  nature  thus  could  scarce  be  whole- 
some. He  answered  none ;  but  looked  scared,  and  hand 
on  head.  By  and  by  he  gave  a  groan,  and  rolled  on  the 
ground  like  a  ball,  and  writhed  sore.  I  was  scared,  and 
wist  not  what  to  do,  but  went  to  lift  him ;  but  his  trouble 
rose  higher  and  higher,  he  gnashed  his  teeth  fearfully, 
and  the  foam  did  fly  from  his  lips  ;  and  presently  his 
body  bended  itself  like  a  bow,  and  jerked  and  bounded 
many  times  into  the  air.  I  exorcised  him ;  it  but  made 
him  worse.  There  was  water  in  a  ditch  hard  by,  not 
very  clear;  but,  the  poor  creature  struggling  betweeix 
life  and  death,  I  filled  my  hat  withal,  and  came  flying  to 


48  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


souse  him.  Then  my  lord  laughed  in  my  face.  '  Come, 
Bon  Bee,  by  thy  white  gills,  I  had  not  forgotten  my 
trade.'  I  stood  with  watery  hat  in  hand,  glaring. 
'  Could  this  be  feigning  ?  '  '  What  else  ?  '  said  he. 
'  Why,  a  real  fit  is  the  sorriest  thing ;  but  a  stroke  with 
a  feather  compared  with  mine.  Art  still  betters  nature.' 
'But  look,  e'en  now  blood  trickleth  from  your  nose,' 
said  I.  'Ay,  ay,  pricked  my  nostrils  with  a  straw.' 
i  But  ye  foamed  at  the  lips.'  '  Oh,  a  little  soap  makes  a 
mickle  foam.'  And  he  drew  out  a  morsel  like  a  bean 
from  his  mouth.  'Thank  thy  stars,  Bon  Bee,'  says  he, 
'  for  leading  thee  to  a  worthy  master.  Each  day  his 
lesson.  To-morrow  we  will  study  the  cut  de  bois  and 
other  branches.  To-day,  own  me  prince  of  demoniacs, 
and  indeed  of  all  good  fellows.'  Then,  being  puffed  up, 
he  forgot  yesterday's  grudge,  and  discoursed  me  freely 
of  beggars ;  and  gave  me,  who  eftsoons  thought  a  beg- 
gar was  a  beggar,  and  there  an  end,  the  names  and 
qualities  of  full  thirty  sorts  of  masterful  and  crafty 
mendicants  in  France  and  Germany,  and  England ;  his 
three  provinces;  for  so  the  poor,  proud  knave  yclept 
those  kingdoms  three ;  wherein  his  throne  it  was  the 
stocks  I  ween.  And  outside  the  next  village  one  had 
gone  to  dinner,  and  left  his  wheelbarrow.  So  says  he, 
'  I'll  tie  myself  in  a  knot,  and  shalt  wheel  me  through ; 
and  what  with  my  crippledom  and  thy  piety,  a-wheeling 
of  thy  poor  old  dad,  we'll  bleed  the  bumpkins  of  a 
dacha-saltee.'  I  did  refuse.  I  would  work  for  him ;  but 
no  hand  would  have  in  begging.  'And  wheeling  an 
"  asker  "  in  a  barrow,  is  not  that  work  ?  '  said  he  ;  '  then 
fling  yon  muckle  stone  in  to  boot ;  stay,  I'll  soil  it  a  bit, 
and  swear  it  is  a  chip  of  the  holy  sepulchre,  and  you 
wheeled  us  both  from  Jerusalem.'  Said  I,  '  Wheeling  a 
pair  o'  lies,  one  stony,  one  fleshy,  may  be  work,  and  hard 
work,  but  honest  work  'tis  not.    'Tis  fumbling  with  his 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  49 


tail  you  wot  of.  And/  said  I,  '  master,  next  time  you  go 
to  tempt  me  to  knavery,  speak  not  to  me  of  my  poor  old  - 
dad/  Said  I,  '  You  have  minded  me  of  my  real  father's 
face,  the  truest  man  in  Holland.  He  and  I  are  ill  friends 
now,  worse  luck.  But  though  I  offend  him,  shame  him 
I  never  will.'  Dear  Margaret,  with  this  knave  saying, 
'  your  poor  old  dad/  it  had  gone  to  my  heart  like  a  knife. 
'•  'Tis  well/  said  my  master  gloomily ;  '  I  have  made  a 
bad  bargain.'  Presently  he  halts,  and  eyes  a  tree  by  the 
wayside.  '  Go  spell  me  what  is  writ  on  yon  tree.'  So 
I  went,  and  there  was  nought  but  a  long  square  drawn 
in  outline.  I  told  him  so.  '  So  much  for  thy  monkish 
lore/  quoth  he.  A  little  farther,  and  he  sent  me  to  read 
a  wall.  There  was  nought  but  a  circle  scratched  on  the 
stone  with  a  point  of  nail  or  knife,  and  in  the  circle  two 
dots.  I  said  so.  Then  said  he,  'Bon  Bee,  that  square 
was  a  warning.  Some  good  Truand  left  it,  that  came 
through  this  village  faring  west :  that  means  "  dangerous." 
The  circle  with  the  two  dots  was  writ  by  another  of 
our  brotherhood ;  and  it  signifies  as  how  the  writer,  soit 
Eollin  Trapu,  soit  Triboulet,  soit  Catin  Cul  de  Bois,  or 
what  not,  was  becked  for  asking  here,  and  lay  two  months 
in  Starabin.'  Then  he  broke  forth,  <  Talk  of  your  little 
snivelling  books  that  go  in  pouch.  Three  books  have  I, 
France,  England,  and  Germany ;  and  they  are  writ  all 
over  in  one  tongue,  that  my  brethren  of  all  countries 
understand ;  and  that  is  what  I  call  learning.  So  sith 
here  they  whip  sores,  and  imprison  infirmities,  I  to  my 
tiring  room.'  And  he  popped  behind  the  hedge,  and 
came  back  worshipful.  We  passed  through  the  vil- 
lage, and  I  sat  me  down  on  the  stocks,  and  even  as 
the  barber's  apprentice  whets  his  razor  on  a  block, 
so  did  I  flesh  my  psaltery  on  this  village,  fearing  great 
cities.  I  tuned  it,  and  coursed  up  and  down  the  wires 
nimbly  with  my  two  wooden  strikers ;  and  then  chanted 
4 


50 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


loud  and  clear,  as  I  had  heard  the  minstrels  in  the 
country, 

'  Qui  veut  ouir  qui  veut  Savoir,' 

some  trash,  I  mind  not  what.  And  soon  the  villagers, 
male  and  female,  thronged  about  me;  thereat  I  left  sing- 
ing, and  recited  them  to  the  psaltery  a  short  but  right 
merry  tale  out  of  '  The  Lives  of  the  Saints,'  which  it  is 
my  handbook  of  pleasant  figments :  and  this  ended, 
instantly  struck  up  and  whistled  one  of  Cul  de  Jatte's 
devil's  ditties,  and  played  it  on  the  psaltery  to  boot. 
Thou  knowest  Heaven  hath  bestowed  on  me  a  rare 
whistle,  both  for  compass  and  tune.  And  with  me 
whistling  bright  and  full  this  sprightly  air,  and  making 
the  wires  slow  when  the  tune  did  gallop,  and  tripping 
when  the  tune  did  amble,  or  I  did  stop  and  shake  on  one 
note  like  a  lark  i'  the  air,  they  were  like  to  eat  me ;  but 
looking  round,  lo  !  my  master  had  given  way  to  his  itch, 
and  there  was  his  hat  on  the  ground,  and  copper  pouring 
in.  I  deemed  it  cruel  to  whistle  the  bread  out  of  pov- 
erty's pouch ;  so  broke  off  and  away ;  yet  could  not  get 
clear  so  swift,  but  both  men  and  women  did  slobber  me 
sore,  and  smelled  all  of  garlic.  '  There,  master,'  said  I, 
'  I  call  that  cleaving  the  divell  in  twain  and  keeping  his 
white  half.'  Said  he,  'Bon  Bee,  I  have  made  a  good 
bargain.'  Then  he  bade  me  stay  where  I  was  while  he 
went  to  the  Holy  Land.  I  stayed,  and  he  leaped  the 
churchyard  dike,  and  the  sexton  was  digging  a  grave, 
and  my  master  chaffered  with  him,  and  came  back  with 
a  knuckle  bone.  But,  why  he  clept  a  churchyard  Holy 
Land,  that  I  learned  not  then,  but  after  dinner.  I  was 
colouring  the  armories  of  a  little  inn ;  and  he  sat  by  me 
most  peaceable,  a  cutting,  and  filing,  and  polishing  bones, 
sedately ;  so  I  speered  was  not  honest  work  sweet  ?  '  As 
rain  water/  said  he,  mocking.    'What  was  he  a  mak 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  51 


ing-  V  i  A  pair  of  bones  to  play  on  with  thee ;  and  with 
the  refuse  a  St.  Anthony's  thumb  and  a  St.  Martin's  little 
finger,  for  the  devout.'  The  vagabone  !  And  now,  sweet 
Margaret,  thou  seest  our  manner  of  life  faring  Rhine- 
ward.  I  with  the  two  arts  I  had  least  prized  or  counted 
on  for  bread  was  welcome  everywhere  ;  too  poor  now  to 
fear  robbers,  yet  able  to  keep  both  master  and  man  on 
the  road.  For  at  night  I  often  made  a  portraiture  of  the 
innkeeper  or  his  dame,  and  so  went  richer  from  an  inn ; 
the  which  it  is  the  lot  of  few.  But  my  master  despised 
this  even  way  of  life.  '  I  love  ups  and  downs,'  said  he. 
And  certes  he  lacked  them  not.  One  day  he  would 
gather  more  than  I  in  three  ;  another,  to  hear  his  tale,  it 
had  rained  kicks  all  day  in  lieu  of  '  saltees,'  and  that  is 
pennies.  Yet  even  then  at  heart  he  despised  me  for  a 
poor  mechanical  soul,  and  scorned  my  arts,  extolling  his 
own,  the  art  of  feigning. 

"  Natheless,  at  odd  times  was  he  ill  at  his  ease.  Going 
through  the  town  of  Aix,  we  came  upon  a  beggar  walk- 
ing, fast  by  one  hand  to  a  cart-tail,  and  the  hangman  a 
lashing  his  bare  bloody  back.  He,  stout  knave,  so  whipt, 
did  not  a  jot  relent ;  but  I  did  wince  at  every  stroke ; 
and  my  master  hung  his  head. 

"  '  Soon  or  late,  Bon  Bee,'  quoth  he.  '  Soon  or  late.' 
I,  seeing  his  haggard  face,  knew  what  he  meaned.  And 
at  a  town  whose  name  hath  slipped  me,  but  'twas  on  a 
fair  river,  as  we  came  to  the  foot  of  the  bridge  he  halted, 
and  shuddered.  '  Why,  what  is  the  coil  ? '  said  I.  '  Oh, 
blind,'  said  he,  'they  are  justifying  there.'  So  nought 
would  serve  him  but  take  a  boat,  and  cross  the  river  by 
water.  But  'twas  out  of  the  frying-pan,  as  the  word 
goeth.  For  the  boatmen  had  scarce  told  us  the  matter, 
and  that  it  was  a  man  and  a  woman  for  stealing  glazed 
windows  out  of  housen,  and  that  the  man  was  hanged  at 
daybreak,  and  the  quean  to  be  drowned,  when,  lo !  they 


52 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


did  fling  her  off  the  bridge,  and  fell  in  the  water  not  far 
from  us.  And,  oh  !  Margaret,  the  deadly  splash !  It 
ringeth  in  mine  ears  even  now.  But  worse  was  coming ; 
for,  though  tied,  she  came  up,  and  cried,  '  Help  !  help ! ' 
and  I,  forgetting  all,  and  hearing  a  woman's  voice  cry 
'  Help  ! '  was  for  leaping  in  to  save  her ;  and  had  surely 
done  it,  but  the  boatmen  and  Cul  de  Jatte  clung  round 
me,  and  in  a  moment  the  bourreau's  man,  that  waited 
in  a  boat,  came  and  entangled  his  hooked  pole  in  her 
long  hair,  and  so  thrust  her  down  and  ended  her.  Oh  ! 
if  the  saints  answered  so  our  cries  for  help !  And  poor 
Cul  de  Jatte  groaned;  and  I  sat  sobbing,  and  beat  my 
breast,  and  cried,  'Of  what  hath  God  made  men's 
hearts  ? ' " 

The  reader  stopped,  and  the  tears  trickled  down  her 
cheeks.  Gerard  crying  in  Lorraine,  made  her  cry  at 
Rotterdam.  The  leagues  were  no  more  to  her  heart  than 
the  breadth  of  a  room. 

Eli,  softened  by  many  touches  in  the  letter,  and  by 
the  reader's  womanly  graces,  said  kindly  enough,  "Take 
thy  time,  lass.  And  methinks  some  of  ye  might  find 
her  a  creepie  to  rest  her  foot,  and  she  so  near  her  own 
trouble." 

"  I'd  do  more  for  her  than  that  an  I  durst,"  said  Cath- 
erine. "Here,  Cornells,"  and  she  held  out  her  little 
wooden  stool,  and  that  worthy,  who  hated  Margaret 
worse  than  ever,  had  to  take  the  creepie  and  put  it  care- 
fully under  her  foot. 

"  You  are  very  kind,  dame,"  she  faltered.  "  I  will  read 
on ;  'tis  all  I  can  do  for  you  in  turn. 

"Thus  seeing  my  master  ashy  and  sore  shaken,  I 
deemed  this  horrible  tragic  act  came  timeously  to  warn 
him,  so  I  strove  sore  to  turn  him  from  his  ill  ways,  dis- 
coursing of  sinners  and  their  lethal  end.  '  Too  late  ! ' 
said  he,  '  too  late  ! '  and  gnashed  his  teeth.    Then  I  told 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  53 


him  'too  late  was  the  di veil's  favorite  whisper  in  re- 
pentant ears.    Said  I  — 

4  The  Lord  is  debonair, 
Let  sinners  nought  despair.' 

<  Too  late ! '  said  he,  and  gnashed  his  teeth,  and  writhed 
his  face,  as  though  vipers  were  biting  his  inward  parts. 
But,  dear  heart,  his  was  a  mind  like  running  water.  Ere 
we  cleared  the  town  he  was  carolling ;  and  outside  the 
gate  hung  the  other  culprit,  from  the  bough  of  a  little 
tree,  and  scarce  a  yard  above  the  ground.  And  that 
stayed  my  vagabone's  music.  But,  ere  we  had  gone 
another  furlong,  he  feigned  to  have  dropped  his  rosary, 
and  ran  back,  with  no  good  intent  as  you  shall  hear.  I 
strolled  on  very  slowly,  and  often  halting,  and  presently 
he  came  stumping  up  on  one  leg,  and  that  bandaged.  I 
asked  him  how  he  could  contrive  that,  for  'twas  masterly 
done.  '  Oh,  that  was  his  mystery.  Would  I  know  that, 
I  must  join  the  brotherhood.'  And  presently  we  did 
pass  a  narrow  lane,  and  at  the  mouth  on't  espied  a  written 
stone,  telling  beggars  by  .  word  like  a  wee  pitchfork  to 
go  that  way.  '  'Tis  yon  farm-house,'  said  he  :  <  bide  thou 
at  hand.'  And  he  went  to  the  house,  and  came  back 
with  money,  food,  and  wine.  'This  lad  did  the  busi- 
ness,' said  he,  slapping  his  one  leg  proudly.  Then  he 
undid  the  bandage,  and  with  prideful  face  showed  me  a 
hole  in  his  calf  you  could  have  put  your  neef  in.  Had  I 
been  strange  to  his  tricks,  here  was  a  leg  had  drawn 
my  last  penny.  Presently  another  farm-house  by  the 
road.  He  made  for  it.  I  stood,  and  asked  myself,  should 
I  run  away  and  leave  him,  not  to  be  ashamed  in  my  own 
despite  by  him  ?  But,  while  I  doubted,  there  was  a 
great  noise,  and  my  master  well  cudgelled  by  the  farmer 
and  his  men,  came  towards  me  hobbling  and  halloaing, 
for  the  peasants  had  layed  on  heartily.    But  more  trouble 


54 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


was  at  his  heels.  Some  mischievous  wight  loosed  a  dog 
as  big  as  a  jackass  colt,  and  came  roaring  after  him,  and 
downed  him  momently.  I,  deeming  the  poor  rogue's 
death  certain,  and  him  least  fit  to  die,  drew  my  sword  and 
ran  shouting.  But,  ere  I  could  come  near,  the  muckle  dog 
had  torn  away  his  bad  leg,  and  ran  growling  to  his  lair 
with  it ;  and  Cul  de  Jatte  slipped  his  knot,  and  came 
running  like  a  lapwing,  with  his  hair  on  end,  and  so 
striking  with  both  crutches  before  and  behind  at  unreal 
dogs  as  'twas  like  a  wind-mill  crazed.  He  fled  adown 
the  road.  I  followed  leisurely,  and  found  him  at  dinner. 
1  Curse  the  quiens,'  said  he.  And  not  a  word  all  dinner 
time  but  '  Curse  the  quiens  ! ' 

"  I  said,  I  must  know  who  they  were,  before  I  would 
curse  them. 

"  '  Quiens  ?  why,  that  was  dogs,  And  I  knew  not  even 
that  much  ?  He  had  made  a  bad  bargain.  Well,  well,' 
said  he,  '  to-morrow  we  shall  be  in  Germany.  There  the 
folk  are  music-bitten,  and  they  molest  not  beggars, 
unless  they  fake  to  boot,  and  then  they  drown  us  out  of 
hand  that  moment,  curse  'em ! '  We  came  to  Strasburgh. 
And  I  looked  down  Rhine  with  longing  heart.  The 
stream  how  swift !  It  seemed  running  to  clip  Seven- 
bergen  to  its  soft  bosom.  With  but  a  piece  of  timber  and 
an  oar  I  might  drift  at  my  ease  to  thee,  sleeping  yet 
gliding  still.  'Twas  a  sore  temptation.  But  the  fear  of 
ill  welcome  from  my  folk,  and  of  the  neighbors'  sneers, 
and  the  hope  of  coming  back  to  thee  victorious,  not,  as 
now  I  must,  defeated  and  shamed,  and  thee  with  me,  it 
did  withhold  me  ;  and  so,  with  many  sighs,  and  often 
turning  of  the  head  to  look  on  beloved  Rhine,  I  turned 
sorrowful  face  and  heavy  heart  towards  Augsburg." 

"  Alas,  dame,  alas  !  Good  master  Eli,  forgive  me  ! 
But  I  ne'er  can  win  over  this  part  all  at  one  time.  It 
taketh  my  breath  away.    Well-a-day  !    Why  did  he  not 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


55 


listen  to  his  heart?  Had  he  not  gone  through  peril 
enow,  sorrow  enow  ?    Well-a-day  !  well-a-day  ! " 

The  letter  dropped  from  her  hand,  and  she  drooped 
like  a  wounded  lily. 

Then  there  was  a  clatter  on  the  floor,  and  it  was  little 
Kate  going  on  her  crutches,  with  flushed  face,  and  eyes 
full  of  pity,  to  console  her.  "  Water,  mother,"  she  cried. 
"  I  am  afeard  she  shall  swoon." 

"  Nay,  nay,  fear  me  not,"  said  Margaret,  feebly.  "  I 
will  not  be  so  troublesome.  Thy  good-will  it  maketh  me 
stouter  hearted,  sweet  mistress  Kate.  For,  if  thou  carest 
how  I  fare,  sure  Heaven  is  not  against  me." 

Catherine.    D'ye  hear  that,  my  man  ? 

Mi.    Ay,  wife,  I  hear  ;  and  mark  to  boot. 

Little  Kate  went  back  to  her  place,  and  Margaret  read 
on.  "The  Germans  are  fonder  of  armorials  than  the 
French.  So  I  found  work  every  day.  And,  whiles  I 
wrought,  my  master  would  leave  me,  and  doff  his  rai- 
ment and  don  his  rags,  and  other  infirmities,  and  cozen 
the  world,  which  he  did  clepe  it  '  plucking  of  the  goose  : ' 
this  done,  would  meet  me  and  demand  half  my  earnings ; 
and  with  restless,  piercing  eye  ask  me  would  I  be  so  base 
as  cheat  my  poor  master  by  making  three  parts  in  lieu 
of  two,  till  I  threatened  to  lend  him  a  cuff  to  boot  in 
requital  of  his  suspicion  ;  and  thenceforth  took  his  due, 
with  feigned  confidence  in  my  good  faith,  the  which  his 
dancing  eye  belied.  Early  in  Germany  we  had  a  quarrel. 
I  had  seen  him  buy  a  skull  of  a  jailer's  wife,  and  mighty 
zealous  a-polishing  it.  Thought  I,  'How  can  he  carry 
yon  memento,  and  not  repent,  seeing  where  ends  his 
way  ? '  Presently  I  did  catch  him  selling  it  to  a  woman 
for  the  head  of  St.  Barnabas,  with  a  tale  had  cozened  an 
Ebrew.  So  I  snatched  it  out  of  their  hands,  and  trundled 
it  into  the  ditch.  'How,  thou  impious  knave/  said  I, 
*wouldst  sell  for  a  saint  the  skull  of  some  dead  thief,  thy 


56 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


brother  ?  '  He  slunk  away.  But  shallow  she  did  crawl 
after  the  skull,  and  with  apron  dust  it  reverently  foi 
Barnabas,  and  it  Barabbas  ;  and  so  home  with  it.  Said 
I,  '  non  vult  anser  velli,  sedpopulus  vult  decipi.'  " 

Catherine.    Oh,  the  goodly  Latin  ! 

Eli.    What  meaneth  it  ? 

Catherine.  Xay,  I  know  not :  but  'tis  Latin :  is  not 
that  enow  ?    He  was  the  flower  of  the  flock. 

"  Then  I  to  him,  '  Take  now  thy  psaltery,  and  part  we 
here,  for  art  a  walking  prison,  a  walking  hell.'  But  lo  ! 
my  master  fell  on  his  knees,  and  begged  me  for  pity's 
sake  not  to  turn  him  off.  '  What  would  become  of  him  ? 
He  did  so  love  honesty.'  i  Thou  love  honesty  ?  '  said  L 
'  Ay,'  said  he,  '  not  to  enact  it ;  the  saints  forbid.  But  to 
look  on.  'Tis  so  fair  a  thing  to  look  on.  Alas,  good  Bon 
Bee,'  said  he  ;  '  hadst  starved  peradventure  but  for  me. 
Kick  not  down  thy  ladder  !  Call  ye  that  just  ?  Kay, 
calm  thy  choler  !  Have  pity  on  me  !  I  must  have  a 
pal :  and  how  could  I  bear  one  like  myself  after  one  so 
simple  as  thou  ?  He  might  cut  my  throat  for  the  money 
that  is  hid  in  my  belt.  'Tis  not  much;  'tis  not  much. 
With  thee  I  walk  at  mine  ease  ;  with  a  sharp  I  dare  not 
go  before  in  a  narrow  way.  Alas  !  forgive  me.  Xow  I 
know  where  in  thy  bonnet  lurks  the  bee,  I  will  ware  his 
sting  ;  I  will  but  pluck  the  secular  goose.'  '  So  be  it,' 
said  I.  { And  example  was  contagious  :  he  should  be  a 
true  man  by  then  we  reached  Xurnberg.  'Twas  a  long 
way  to  Xurnberg.'  Seeing  him  so  humble,  I  said,  ;  Well, 
doff  rags,  and  make  thyself  decent ;  'twill  help  me  forget 
what  thou  art.'  And  he  did  so  ;  and  we  sat  down  to  our 
nonemete.  Presently  came  by  a  reverend  palmer  with 
hat  stuck  round  with  cockle  shells  from  Holy  Land,  and 
great  rosary  of  beads  like  eggs  of  teal,  and  sandals  for 
shoes.  And  he  leaned  aweary  on  his  long  staff,  and 
offered  us  a  shell  apiece.    My  master  would  none ;  but 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  57 


I,  to  set  him  a  better  example,  took  one,  and  for  it  gave 
the  poor  pilgrim  two  batzen,  and  had  his  blessing.  And 
he  was  scarce  gone,  when  we  heard  savage  cries,  and 
came  a  sorry  sight,  one  leading  a  wild  woman  in  a  chain, 
all  rags,  and  howling  like  a  wolf.  And  when  they  came 
nigh  usy  she  fell  to  tearing  her  rags  to  threads.  The  man 
sought  an  alms  of  us,  and  told  us  his  hard  case.  'Twas 
his  wife,  stark,  raving  mad ;  and  he  could  not  work  in 
the  fields,  and  leave  her  in  his  house  to  fire  it,  nor  cure 
her  could  he  without  the  Saintys  help  ;  and  had  vowed 
six  pounds  of  wax  to  St.  Anthony  to  heal  her,  and  so  was 
fain  beg  of  charitable  folk  for  the  money.  And  now  she 
espied  us,  and  flew  at  me  with  her  long  nails,  and  I  was 
cold  with  fear,  so  devilish  showed  her  face  and  rolling 
eyes  and  nails  like  birdys  talons.  But  he  with  the  chain 
checked  her  sudden,  and  with  his  whip  did  cruelly  lash 
her  for  it,  that  I  cried,  '  Forbear  !  forbear  !  She  knoweth 
not  what  she  doth ; '  and  gave  him  a  batz.  And  being 
gone,  said  I,  '  Master,  of  those  twain  I  know  not  which  is 
the  more  pitiable.'  And  he  laughed  in  my  face.  '  Be- 
hold thy  justice,  Bon  Bee/  said  he.  'Thou  railest  on 
thy  poor,  good,  within-an-ace-of-honest  master,  and  be- 
stowest  alms  on  a  "  vopper." '  '  Vopper,'  said  I,  '  what  is 
a  vopper  ?  '  '  Why,  a  trull  that  feigns  madness.  That 
was  one  of  us,  that  sham  maniac,  and  wow  but  she  did  it 
clumsily.  I  blushed  for  her  and  thee.  Also  gavest  two 
batzen  for  a  shell  from  Holy  Land,  that  came  no  farther 
than  Normandy.  I  have  culled  them  myself  on  that 
coast  by  scores,  and  sold  them  to  pilgrims  true  and  pil- 
grims false,  to  gull  flats  like  thee  withal.'  'What !'  said 
I ;  '  that  reverend  man  ?  '  '  One  of  us  ! '  cried  Cul  de 
Jatte ;  '  one  of  us  !  In  France  we  call  them  "  Coquil- 
larts,"  but  here  "Calmierers."  Railest  on  me  for  selling 
a  false  relic  now  and  then,  and  wastest  thy  earnings  on 
such  as  sell  nought  else.    I  tell  thee,  Bon  Bee,'  said  he, 


58 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


'  there  is  not  one  true  relic  on  earth's  face.  The  saints 
died  a  thousand  years  agone,  and  their  bones  mixed  with 
the  dust ;  but  the  trade  in  relics,  it  is  of  yesterday ;  and 
there  are  forty  thousand  tramps  in  Europe  live  by  it ; 
selling  relics  of  forty  or  fifty  bodies  ;  oh,  threadbare  lie ! 
And  of  the  true  Cross  enow  to  build  Cologne  Minster. 
Why,  then,  may  not  poor  Cul  de  Jatte  turn  his  penny 
with  the  crowd  ?  Art  but  a  scurvy,  tyrannical  servant 
to  let  thy  poor  master  from  his  share  of  the  swag  with 
your  whoreson  pilgrims,  palmers,  and  friars,  black,  gray, 
and  crutched ;  for  all  these  are  of  our  brotherhood,  and 
of  our  art.  only  masters  they,  and  we  but  poor  appren- 
tices, in  guild.'    For  his  tongue  was  an  ell  and  a  half. 

" 1 A  truce  to  thy  irreverend  sophistries,'  said  I,  1  and 
say  what  company  is  this  a-coming.'  '  Bohemians,'  cried 
he.  '  Ay,  ay  ;  this  shall  be  the  rest  of  the  band.'  With 
that  came  along  so  motley  a  crew  as  never  your  eyes 
beheld,  dear  Margaret.  Marched  at  their  head  one  with 
a  banner  on  a  steel-pointed  lance,  and  girded  with  a  great 
long  sword,  and  in  velvet  doublet  and  leathern  jerkin, 
the  which  stuffs  ne'er  saw  I  wedded  afore  on  mortal  flesh, 
and  a  gay  feather  in  his  lordly  cap,  and  a  couple  of  dead 
fowls  at  his  back,  the  which,  an  the  spark  had  come  by 
honestly,  I  am  much  mistook.  Him  followed  wives  and 
babes  on  two  lean  horses,  whose  flanks  still  rattled  like 
parchment  drum,  being  beaten  by  kettles  and  caldrons. 
Xext  an  armed  man  a-riding  of  a  horse,  which  drew  a 
cart  full  of  females  and  children :  and  in  it,  sitting  back- 
wards, a  lusty,  lazy  knave,  lance  in  hand,  with  his  luxu- 
rious feet  raised  on  a  holy-water  pail,  that  lay  along,  and 
therein  a  cat.  new  kittened,  sat  glowing  o'er  her  brood, 
and  sparks  for  eyes.  And  the  cart-horse  cavalier  had  on 
his  shoulders  a  round  bundle,  and  thereon  did  perch  a 
cock  and  crowed  with  zeal,  poor  rufner,  proud  of  his 
brave  feathers  as  the  rest,  and  haply  with  more  reason, 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  59 

being  his  own.  And  on  an  ass  another  wife  and  new- 
born child ;  and  one  poor  quean  a-foot  scarce  dragged 
herself  along,  so  near  her  time  was  she,  yet  held  two 
little  ones  by  the  hand,  and  helplessly  helped  them  on 
the  road.  And  the  little  folk  were  just  a  farce  ;  some 
rode  sticks,  with  horses'  heads,  between  their  legs,  which 
pranced  and  caracoled,  and  soon  wearied  the  riders  so 
sore,  they  stood  stock  still  and  wept,  which  cavaliers 
were  presently  taken  into  cart  and  cuffed.  And  one, 
more  grave,  lost  in  a  man's  hat  and  feather,  walked  in 
Egyptian  darkness,  handed  by  a  girl ;  another  had  the 
great  saucepan  on  his  back,  and  a  tremendous  three- 
footed  clay  pot  sat  on  his  head  and  shoulders,  swallow- 
ing him  so  as  he  too  went  darkling,  led  by  his  sweet- 
heart three  foot  high.  When  they  were  gone  by,  and 
we  had  both  laughed  lustily,  said  I,  '  Natheless,  master, 
my  bowels  they  yearn  for  one  of  that  tawdry  band,  even 
for  the  poor  wife  so  near  the  down-lying,  scarce  able  to 
drag  herself,  yet  still,  poor  soul,  helping  the  weaker  on 
the  way.' 

Catherine.  Nay,  nay,  Margaret.  Why,  wench,  pluck 
up  heart.    Certes  thou  art  no  Bohemian. 

Kate.  Nay,  mother,  'tis  not  that,  I  trow,  but  her 
father.  And,  dear  heart,  why  take  notice  to  put  her  to 
the  blush  ? 

Richart.    So  I  say. 

"  And  he  derided  me.  '  Why,  that  is  a  "  biltreger," ? 
said  he,  '  and  you  waste  your  bowels  on  a  pillow,  or  so 
forth.'  I  told  him  he  lied.  1  Time  would  show,'  said  he, 
' wait  till  they  camp.'  And  rising  after  meat  and  medi- 
tation, and  travelling  forward,  we  found  them  camped 
between  two  great  trees  on  a  common  by  the  wayside, 
and  they  had  lighted  a  great  fire,  and  on  it  was  their 
caldron ;  and,  one  of  the  trees  slanting  o'er  the  fire,  a  kid 
hung  down  by  a  chain  from  the  tree-fork  to  the  fire,  and 


60 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


in  the  fork  was  wedged  an  urchin  turning  still  the  chain 
to  keep  the  meat  from  burning,  and  a  gay  spark  with  a 
feather  in  his  cap  cut  up  a  sheep ;  and  another  had  spitted 
a  leg  of  it  on  a  wooden  stake ;  and  a  woman  ended  chanti- 
cleer's pride  with  wringing  of  his  neck.  And  under  the 
other  tree  four  rufflers  played  at  cards  and  quarrelled, 
and  no  word  sans  oath ;  and  of  these  lewd  gamblers  one 
had  cockles  in  his  hat,  and  was  my  reverend  pilgrim. 
And  a  female,  young  and  comely,  and  dressed  like  a 
butterfly,  sat  and  mended  a  heap  of  dirty  rags.  And 
Cul  de  Jatte  said,  '  Yon  is  the  "  vopper," '  and  I  looked 
incredulous  and  looked  again,  and  it  was  so,  and  at  her 
feet  sat  he  that  had  so  late  lashed  her ;  but  I  ween  he 
had  wist  where  to  strike,  or  woe  betide  him  ;  and  she 
did  now  oppress  him  sore,  and  made  him  thread  her  very 
needle,  the  which  he  did  with  all  humility  ;  so  was  their 
comedy  turned  seamy  side  without:  and  Cul  de  Jatte 
told  me  'twas  still  so  with  '  voppers '  and  their  men  in 
camp ;  they  would  don  their  bravery  though  but  for  an 
hour,  and  with  their  tinsel,  empire,  and  the  man  durst 
not  the  least  gainsay  the  1  vopper,'  or  she  would  turn 
him  off  at  these  times,  as  I  my  master,  and  take  another 
tyrant  more  submissive.  And  my  master  chuckled  over 
me.  Natheless  we  soon  espied  a  wife  set  with  her  back 
against  the  tree,  and  her  hair  down,  and  her  face  white, 
and  by  her  side  a  wench  held  up  to  her  eye  a  new-born 
babe,  with  words  of  cheer,  and  the  rough  fellow,  her 
husband,  did  bring  her  hot  wine  in  a  cup,  and  bade  her 
take  courage.  And,  just  o'er  the  place  she  sat,  they  had 
pinned  from  bough  to  bough  of  those  neighboring  trees 
two  shawls,  and  blankets  two,  together,  to  keep  the 
drizzle  off  her.  And  so  had  another  poor  little  rogue 
come  into  the  world:  and  by  her  own  particular  folk 
tended  gypsywise,  but  of  the  roasters,  and  boilers,  and 
coppers,  and  gamblers,  no  more  noticed,  no,  not  for  a 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


61 


single  moment,  than  sheep  which  droppeth  her  lamb  in 
a  field,  by  travellers  upon  the  way.  Then  said  I,  '  What 
of  thy  foul  suspicions,  master  ?  over-knavery  blinds  the 
eye  as  well  as  over-simplicity.'  And  he  laughed  and 
said,  1  Triumph,  Bon  Bee,  triumph.  The  chances  were 
nine  in  ten  against  thee.'  Then  I  did  pity  her,  to  be  in 
a  crowd  at  such  a  time ;  but  he  rebuked  me.  '  I  should 
pity  rather  your  queens  and  royal  duchesses,  which  by 
law  are  condemned  to  groan  in  a  crowd  of  nobles  and 
courtiers,  and  do  writhe  with  shame  as  well  as  sorrow, 
being  come  of  decent  mothers,  whereas  these  gypsy 
women  have  no  more  shame  under  their  skins  than  a 
wolf  ruth,  or  a  hare  valor.  And,  Bon  Bee/  quoth  he, 
' I  espy  in  thee  a  lamentable  fault.  Wastest  thy  bowels. 
Wilt  have  none  left  for  thy  poor  good  master  which 
doeth  thy  will  by  night  and  day.'  Then  we  came  for- 
ward; and  he  talked  with  the  men  in  some  strange 
Hebrew  cant  whereof  no  word  knew  I;  and  the  poor 
knaves  bade  us  welcome  and  denied  us  nought.  With 
them,  and  all  they  had,  'twas  lightly  come  and  lightly 
go ;  and  when  we  left  them  my  master  said  to  me,  '  This 
is  thy  first  lesson,  but  to-night  we  shall  lie  at  Hansburgh. 
Come  with  me  to  the  "  rotboss  "  there,  and  I'll  show  thee 
all  our  folk  and  their  lays,  and  especially  "  the  lossners," 
"the  dutzers,"  "the  schleppers,"  "the  gickisses,"  "the 
schwanfelders,"  whom  in  England  we  call  "shivering 
Jemmies,"  "the  suntvegers,"  "the  schwiegers,"  "the 
joners,"  "the  sessel-degers,"  "the  gennscherers,"  in 
France  "marcandiers  or  rifodes,"  "the  veranerins,"  "the 
stabulers,"  with  a  few  foreigners  like  ourselves,  such 
as  "pietres,"  "  f rancmitoux,"  "polissons,"  "malingreux," 
"traters,"  "rumers,"  "  whipjalks,"  "dommerars,"  "glym- 
merars,"  "jarkmen,"  "patricos,"  "swadders,"  "autem 
morts  "  "  walking  morts,"  '  — < Enow,'  cried  I,  stopping 
him,  '  art  as  gleesome  as  the  evil  one  a-counting  of  his 


62  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

imps.  I'll  jot  down  in  my  tablet  all  these  caitiffs  and  their 
accursed  names :  for  knowledge  is  knowledge.  But  go 
among  them,  alive  or  dead,  that  will  I  not  with  my  good 
will.  Moreover,'  said  I,  '  what  need  ?  since  I  have  a  com- 
panion in  thee  who  is  all  the  knaves  on  earth  in  one  ? ' 
and  thought  to  abash  him  ;  but  his  face  shone  with  pride, 
and  hand  on  breast  he  did  bow  low  to  me.  <  If  thy  wit 
be  scant,  good  Bon  Bee,  thy  manners  are  a  charm.  I 
have  made  a  good  bargain.'  So  he  to  the  1  rotboss,'  and 
I  to  a  decent  inn,  and  sketched  the  landlord's  daughter 
by  candle-light,  and  started  at  morn  batzen  three  the 
richer,  but  could  not  find  my  master,  so  loitered  slowly 
on,  and  presently  met  him  coming  west  for  me,  and 
cursing  the  quiens.  Why  so  ?  Because  he  could  blind 
the  culls  but  not  the  quiens.  At  last  I  prevailed  on  him 
to  leave  cursing  and  canting,  and  tell  me  his  adventure. 
Said  he,  '  I  sat  outside  the  gate  of  yon  monastery,  full  of 
sores,  which  I  showed  the  passers-by.  Oh,  Bon  Bee, 
beautifuller  sores  you  never  saw  :  and  it  rained  coppers 
in  my  hat.  Presently  the  monks  came  home  from  some 
procession,  and  the  convent  dogs  ran  out  to  meet  them, 
curse  the  quiens  ! '  1  What,  did  they  fall  on  thee  and  bite 
thee,  poor  soul  ? '  £  Worse,  worse,  dear  Bon  Bee.  Had 
they  bitten  me  I  had  earned  silver.  But  the  great  idiots, 
being,  as  I  think,  puppies,  or  little  better,  fell  on  me 
where  I  sat,  downed  me,  and  fell  a-licking  my  sores 
among  them.  As  thou,  false  knave,  didst  swear  the 
whelps  in  heaven  licked  the  sores  of  Lazybones,  a  beggar 
of  old.'  'Nay,  nay/  said  I,  fI  said  no  such  thing.  But 
tell  me,  since  they  bit  me  not,  but  sportfully  licked  thee, 
what  harm  ? "  6  What  harm,  noodle  ?  why,  the  sores 
came  off.  '  How  could  that  be  ? *  '  How  could  aught 
else  be  ?  and  them  just  fresh  put  on.  Did  I  think  he 
was  so  weak  as  bite  holes  in  his  flesh  with  ratsbane? 
Nay,  he  was  an  artist,  a  painter  like  his  servant,  and  had 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  63 


pat  on  sores  made  of  pig's  blood,  rye  meal,  and  glue. 
So  when  the  folk  saw  my  sores  go  on  tongues  of  puppies, 
they  laughed,  and  I  saw  cord  or  sack  before  me.  So  up 
I  jumped,  and  shouted  "  A  miracle !  a  miracle  !  The  very 
dogs  of  this  holy  convent  be  holy,  and  have  cured  me. 
Good  fathers,"  cried  I,  "  whose  day  is  this  ?  "  "  St. 
Isidore's,"  said  one.  "St.  Isidore,"  cried  I,  in  a  sort  of 
rapture.  "  Why,  St.  Isidore  is  my  patron  saint :  so  that 
accounts."  And  the  simple  folk  swallowed  my  miracle 
as  those  accursed  quiens  my  wounds.  But  the  monks 
took  me  inside  and  shut  the  gate,  and  put  their  heads 
together ;  but  I  have  a  quick  ear,  and  one  did  say  "  caret 
miraculo  monasterium"  which  is  Greek  patter  I  trow, 
leastways  it  is  no  beggar's  cant.  Finally  they  bade  the 
lay  brethren  give  me  a  hiding,  and  take  me  out  a  back 
way  and  put  me  on  the  road,  and  threatened  me  did  I 
come  back  to  the  town  to  hand  me  to  the  magistrate  and 
have  me  drowned  for  a  plain  impostor.  "  Profit  now  by 
the  Church's  grace,"  said  they,  "and  mend  thy  ways." 
So  forward,  Bon  Bee,  for  my  life  is  not  sure  nigh  hand 
this  town.'  As  we  went  he  worked  his  shoulders,  <  Wow 
but  the  brethren  laid  on.  And  what  means  yon  piece  of 
monk's  cant,  I  wonder  ? "  So  I  told  him  the  words 
meant  '  the  monastery  is  in  want  of  a  miracle,'  but  the 
application  thereof  was  dark  to  me.  'Dark,'  cried  he, 
'  dark  as  noon.  Why,  it  means  they  are  going  to  work 
the  miracle,  my  miracle,  and  gather  all  the  grain  I 
sowed.  Therefore  these  blows  on  their  benefactor's 
shoulders;  therefore  is  he  that  wrought  their  scurvy 
miracle  driven  forth  with  stripes  and  threats.  Oh,  coz- 
ening knaves ! '  Said  I,  '  Becomes  you  to  complain  of 
guile.'  'Alas,  Bon  Bee,'  said  he,  'I  but  outwit  the 
simple;  but  these  monks  would  pluck  Lucifer  of  his 
wing  feathers.'  And  went  a  league  bemoaning  himself 
that  he  was  not  convent-bred  like  his  servant.  'He 


64 


THE  CLOISTER  A2SD  THE  HEARTH. 


would  put  it  to  more  profit ; '  and  railing  on  quiets. 
i  And  as  for  those  monks,  there  was  one  Above/  '  Certes,' 
said  I,  '  there  is  one  Above.  "What  then  ?  '  '  TTho  will 
call  those  shavelings  to  compt,  one  day/  quoth  he. 
1  And  all  deceitful  men/"  said  L  At  one  that  afternoon 
I  got  armories  to  paint :  so  niy  master  took  the  yellow 
jaundice  and  went  begging  through  the  town,  and  with 
his  oily  tongue,  and  saffron-water  face,  did  fill  his  hat. 
Xow  in  all  the  towns  are  certain  licensed  beggars,  and 
one  of  these  was  an  old  favorite  with  the  townsfolk: 
had  his  station  at  St.  Martin's  porch,  the  greatest  church : 
a  blind  man:  they  called  him  blind  Hans.  He  saw  my 
master  drawing  coppers  on  the  other  side  the  street,  and 
knew  him  by  his  tricks  for  an  impostor,  so  sent  and 
warned  the  constables,  and  I  met  my  master  in  the  con- 
stables3  hands,  and  going  to  his  trial  in  the  town  hall. 
I  followed  and  many  more  :  and  he  was  none  abashed, 
neither  by  the  pomp  of  justice,  nor  memory  of  his  mis- 
deeds, but  demanded  his  accuser  like  a  trumpet.  And 
blind  Hans's  boy  came  forward,  but  was  sifted  narrowly 
by  my  master,  and  stammered  and  faltered,  and  owned 
he  had  seen  nothing,  but  only  carried  blind  Hans's  tale 
to  the  chief  constable.  '  This  is  but  hearsay,'  said  my 
master.  1  Lo  ye  now,  here  standeth  Misfortune  backbit 
by  Envy.  But  stand  thou  forth,  blind  Envy,  and  vent 
thine  own  lie.'  And  blind  Hans  behooved  to  stand  forth, 
sore  against  his  will.  Him  did  my  master  so  press  with 
questions,  and  so  pinch  and  torture,  asking  him  again  and 
again  how,  being  blind,  he  could  see  all  that  befell,  and 
some  that  befell  not,  across  a  way ;  and  why,  an  he  could 
not  see,  he  came  there  holding  up  his  perjured  hand,  and 
maligning  the  misfortunate,  that  at  last  he  groaned  aloud 
and  would  utter  no  word  more.  And  an  alderman  said, 
1  In  sooth,  Hans,  ye  are  to  blame ;  hast  cast  more  dirt  of 
suspicion  on  thyself  than  on  him.'    But  the  burgomaster, 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


65 


a  wondrous  fat  man,  and  methinks  of  his  fat  some  had 
gotten  into  his  head,  checked  him,  and  said,  '  Nay,  Hans 
we  know  this-  many  years,  and,  be  he  blind  or  not,  he 
hath  passed  for  blind  so  long,  'tis  all  one.  Back  to  thy 
porch,  good  Hans,  and  let  the  strange  varlet  leave  the 
town  incontinent  on  pain  of  whipping.'  Then  my  master 
winked  to  me ;  but  there  rose  a  civic  officer  in  his  gown 
of  state  and  golden  chain,  a  dignity  with  us  lightly 
prized,  and  even  shunned  of  some,  but  in  Germany  and 
Trance  much  courted,  save  by  condemned  malefactors ; 
to  wit  the  hangman ;  and  says  he,  '  An't  please  you,  first 
let  us  see  why  he  weareth  his  hair  so  thick  and  low.' 
And  his  man  went  and  lifted  Cul  de  Jatte's  hair,  and  lo 
the  upper  gristle  of  both  ears  was  gone.  c  How  is  this, 
knave  ?  '  quoth  the  burgomaster.  My  master  said,  care- 
lessly, he  minded  not  precisely :  his  had  been  a  life  of 
misfortunes  and  losses.  '  When  a  poor  soul  has  lost  the 
use  of  his  leg,  noble  sirs,  these  more  trivial  woes  rest 
lightly  in  his  memory.'  When  he  found  this  would  not 
serve  his  turn,  he  named  two  famous  battles,  in  each  of 
which  he  had  lost  half  an  ear,  a-fighting  like  a  true  man 
against  traitors  and  rebels.  But  the  hangman  showed 
them  the  two  cuts  were  made  at  one  time,  and  by  meas- 
urement. "Tis  no  bungling  soldier's  work,  my  masters,' 
said  he,  £  'tis  ourn.'  Then  the  burgomaster  gave  judg- 
ment: 'The  present  charge  is  not  proven  against  thee ; 
but,  an  thou  beest  not  guilty  now,  thou  hast  been  at 
other  times,  witness  thine  ears.  Wherefore  I  send  thee 
to  prison  for  one  month,  and  to  give  a  florin  towards  the 
new  hall  of  the  guilds  now  a-building,  and  to  be  whipt 
out  of  the  town,  and  pay  the  hangman's  fee  for  the  same.7 
And  all  the  aldermen  approved,  and  my  master  was 
haled  to  prison  with  one  look  of  anguish.  It  did  strike 
my  bosom.  I  tried  to  get  speech  of  him,  but  the  jailer 
denied  me.    But  lingering  near  the  jail  I  heard  a  whistle, 


66 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


and  there  was  Cul  de  J atte  at  a  narrow  window  twenty 
feet  from  earth.  I  went  under,  and  he  asked  me  what 
made  I  there  ?  I  told  him  I  was  loath  to  go  forward  and 
not  bid  him  farewell.  He  seemed  quite  amazed;  but 
soon  his  suspicious  soul  got  the  better.  That  was  not 
all  mine  errand.  I  told  him  not  all :  the  psaltery :  i  Well, 
what  of  that  ?  '  'Twas  not  mine,  but  his  ;  I  would  pay 
him  the  price  of  it.  i  Then  throw  me  a  rix-dollar,'  said 
he.  I  counted  out  my  coins,  and  they  came  to  a  rix- 
dollar  and  two  batzen.  I  threw  up  his  money  in  three 
throws,  and  when  he  had  got  it  all  he  said,  softly,  '  Bon 
Bee'  '  Master/  said  I.  Then  the  poor  rogue  was  greatly 
moved.  1 1  thought  ye  had  been  mocking  me/  said  he ; 
'  oh,  Bon  Bee,  Bon  Bee,  if  I  had  found  the  world  like 
thee  at  starting  I  had  put  my  wit  to  better  use,  and  I  had 
not  lain  here.'  Then  he  whimpered  out,  'I  gave  not  quite 
a  rix-dollar  for  the  jingler  ; '  and  threw  me  back  that  he 
had  gone  to  cheat  me  of ;  honest  for  once,  and  over  late ; 
and  so,  with  many  sighs,  bade  me  Godspeed.  Thus  did 
my  master,  after  often  baffling  men's  justice,  fall  by  their 
injustice  ;  for  his  lost  ears  proved  not  his  guilt  only,  but 
of  that  guilt  the  bitter  punishment :  so  the  account  was 
even;  yet  they  for  his  chastisement  did  chastise  him. 
Natheless  he  was  a  parlous  rogue,  i  t  he  holp  to  make  a 
man  of  me.  Thanks  to  his  good  wit  I  went  forward 
richer  far  with  my  psaltery  and  brush,  than  with  yon  as 
good  as  stolen  purse ;  for  that  must  have  run  dry  in 
time,  like  a  big  trough,  but  these  a  little  fountain." 

Richart.  How  pregnant  his  reflections  be;  and  but 
a  curly  pated  lad  when  last  I  saw  him.  Asking  your 
pardon,  mistress.    Prithee  read  on. 

"One  day  I  walked  alone,  and,  sooth  to  say,  light- 
hearted,  for  mine  honest  Denys  sweetened  the  air  on  the 
way ;  but  poor  Cul  de  Jatte  poisoned  it.  The  next  day, 
passing  a  grand  house,  out  came  on  prancing  steeds  a 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


67 


gentleman  in  brave  attire  and  two  servants ;  they  over- 
took me.  The  gentleman  bade  me  halt.  I  laughed  in 
my  sleeve ;  for  a  few  batzen  were  all  my  store.  He  bade 
me  doff  my  doublet  and  jerkin.  Then  I  chuckled  no 
more.  '  Bethink  you,  my  lord/  said  I,  '  'tis  winter.  How 
may  a  poor  fellow  go  bare  and  live  ? '  So  he  told  me  I 
shot  mine  arrow  wide  of  his  thought ;  and  off  with  his 
own  gay  jerkin,  richly  furred,  and  doublet  to  match,  and 
held  them  forth  to  me.  Then  a  servant  let  me  know  it 
was  a  penance.  *  His  lordship  had  had  the  ill  luck  to 
slay  his  cousin  in  their  cups.'  Down  to  my  shoes  he 
changed  with  me ;  and  sat  me  on  his  horse  like  a  popin- 
jay, and  fared  by  my  side  in  my  worn  weeds,  with  my 
psaltery  on  his  back.  And  said  he,  ( Now,  good  youth, 
thou  art  Count  Detstein ;  and  I,  late  count,  thy  servant. 
Play  thy  part  well,  and  help  me  save  my  blood-stained 
soul !  Be  haughty  and  choleric  as  any  noble ;  and  I  will 
be  as  humble  as  I  may.'  I  said  I  would  do  my  best  to 
play  the  noble.  But  what  should  I  call  him  ?  He  bade 
me  call  him  nought  but  servant.  That  would  mortify 
him  most,  he  wist.  We  rode  on  a  long  way  in  silence  : 
for  I  was  meditating  this  strange  chance,  that  from  a 
beggar's  servant  had  made  me  master  to  a  count,  and 
also  cudgelling  my  brains  how  best  I  might  play  the 
master,  without  being  run  through  the  body  all  at  one 
time  like  his  cousin.  For  I  mistrusted  sore  my  spark's 
humility ;  your  German  nobles  being,  to  my  knowledge, 
proud  as  Lucifer,  and  choleric  as  fire.  As  for  the  serv- 
ants, they  did  slyly  grin  to  one  another  to  see  their 
master  so  humbled  "  — 
"  Ah  /  what  is  that  ?  " 

A  lump,  as  of  lead,  had  just  bounced  against  the  door, 
and  the  latch  was  fumbled  with  unsuccessfully.  Another 
bounce,  and  the  door  swung  inwards  with  Giles  arrayed 
in  cloth-of-gold  sticking  to  it  like  a  wasp.    He  landed  on 


68  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

the  floor  and  was  embraced ;  but,  on  learning  what  was 
going  on,  trumpeted  that  he  would  much  liever  hear  of 
Gerard  than  gossip. 

Sybrandt  pointed  to  a  diminutive  chair. 

Giles  showed  his  sense  of  this  civility  by  tearing  the 
said  Sybrandt  out  of  a  very  big  one,  and  there  ensconced 
himself  gorgeous  and  glowing.  Sybrandt  had  to  wedge 
himself  into  the  one  which  was  too  small  for  the  mag- 
nificent dwarf's  soul,  and  Margaret  resumed.  But  as 
this  part  of  the  letter  was  occupied  with  notices  of 
places,  all  which  my  reader  probably  knows,  and,  if  not, 
can  find  handled  at  large  in  a  dozen  well-known  books, 
from  Munster  to  Murray,  I  skip  the  topography,  and 
hasten  to  that  part  where  it  occurred  to  him  to  throw 
his  letter  into  a  journal.  The  personal  narrative  that 
intervened  may  be  thus  condensed. 

He  spoke  but  little  at  first  to  his  new  companions,  but 
listened  to  pick  up  their  characters.  Neither  his  noble 
servant  nor  his  servants  could  read  or  write :  and  as  he 
often  made  entries  in  his  tablets,  he  impressed  them 
with  some  awe.  One  of  his  entries  was  "  Le  peu  que  sont 
les  hommes."  For  he  found  the  surly  innkeepers  licked 
the  very  ground  before  him  now ;  nor  did  a  soul  suspect 
the  hosier's  son  in  the  count's  feathers,  nor  the  count  in 
the  minstrel's  weeds.  This  seems  to  have  surprised  him  ; 
for  he  enlarged  on  it  with  the  naivete  and  pomposity  of 
youth.  At  one  place,  being  humbly  requested  to  present 
the  inn  with  his  armorial  bearings,  he  consented  loftily ; 
but  painted  them  himself,  to  mine  host's  wonder,  who 
thought  he  lowered  himself  by  handling  brush.  The 
true  count  stood  grinning  by,  and  held  the  paint-pot, 
while  the  sham  count  painted  a  shield  with  three  red 
herrings  rampant  under  a  sort  of  Maltese  cross  made 
with  two  ell-measures.  At  first  his  plebeian  servants 
were  insolent.     But  this  coming  to  the  notice  of  his 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  69 


noble  one,  he  forgot  what  he  was  doing  penance  for,  and 
drew  his  sword  to  cut  off  their  ears,  heads  included. 
But  Gerard  interposed  and  saved  them,  and  rebuked  the 
count  severely.  And  finally  they  all  understood  one  an- 
other, and  the  superior  mind  obtained  its  natural  influ- 
ence. He  played  the  barbarous  noble  of  that  day  vilely. 
For  his  heart  would  not  let  him  be  either  tyrannical  or 
cold.  Here  were  three  human  beings.  He  tried  to  make 
them  all  happier  than  he  was  ;  held  them  ravished  with 
stories  and  songs,  and  set  Herr  Penitent  and  Co.  dancing 
with  his  whistle  and  psaltery.  For  his  own  convenience 
he  made  them  ride  and  tie,  and  thus  pushed  rapidly 
through  the  country,  travelling  generally  fifteen  leagues 
a  day. 

DIARY. 

"  This  first  of  January  I  observed  a  young  man  of  the 
country  to  meet  a  strange  maiden,  and  kissed  his  hand, 
and  then  held  it  out  to  her.  She  took  it  with  a  smile, 
and  lo  !  acquaintance  made ;  and  babbled  like  old  friends. 
Greeting  so  pretty  and  delicate  I  ne'er  did  see.  Yet  were 
they  both  of  the  baser  sort.  So  the  next  lass  I  saw 
a-coming,  I  said  to  my  servant  lord,  Tor  further  pen- 
ance bow  thy  pride :  go  meet  yon  base-born  girl ;  kiss 
thy  homicidal  hand,  and  give  it  her,  and  hold  her  in  dis- 
course as  best  ye  may.'  And  my  noble  servant  said 
humbly,  i  I  shall  obey  my  lord.'  And  we  drew  rein  and 
watched  while  he  went  forward,  kissed  his  hand,  and 
held  it  out  to  her.  Forthwith  she  took  it  smiling, 
and  was  most  affable  with  him,  and  he  with  her.  Pres- 
ently came  up  a  band  of  her  companions.  So  this  time 
I  bade  him  doff  his  bonnet  to  them,  as  though  they 
were  empresses  ;  and  he  did  so.  And  lo  !  the  lasses  drew 
up  as  stiff  as  hedge-stakes,  and  moved  not  nor  spake." 

Denys.    Aie !  aie  !  aie  !    Pardon,  the  company. 


70  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  This  surprises  me  none ;  for  so  they  did  discounte- 
nance poor  Denys.  And  that  whole  day  I  wore  in  ex- 
perimenting these  German  lasses ;  and  'twas  still  the 
same.  An  ye  doff  bonnet  to  them  they  stiffen  into 
statues;  distance  for  distance.  But  accost  them  with 
honest  freedom,  and  with  that  customarv.  and.  though 
rustical,  most  gracious  proffer,  of  the  kissed  hand,  and 
they  withhold  neither  their  hands  in  turn  nor  their 
acquaintance  in  an  honest  way.  Seeing  which  I  vexed 
myself  that  Denys  was  not  with  us  to  prattle  with  them : 
he  is  so  fond  of  women."  (-Are  you  fond  of  icome?i. 
Denys?")  And  the  reader  opened  two  great  violet  eyes 
upon  him  with  gentle  surprise. 

Deni/s.  Ahem  !  he  says  so,  she-comrade.  By  Hanni- 
bal's helmet  'tis  their  fault,  not  mine.  They  will  have 
such  soft  voices,  and  white  skins,  and  sunny  hair,  and 
dark  blue  eyes,  and  — 

Margaret  (reading  suddenly).  Which  their  affability 
I  put  to  profit  thus.  I  asked  them  how  they  made 
shift  to  grow  roses  in  Yule  ?  For  know,  dear  Margaret, 
that  throughout  Germany  the  baser  sort  of  lasses  wear 
for  head-dress  naught  but  a  -  crantz.'  or  wreath  of  roses, 
encircling  their  bare  hair,  as  laurel  Caesar's  :  and  though 
of  the  worshipful  scorned,  yet  is  braver.  I  wist,  to  your 
eye  and  mine  which  painters  be,  though  sorry  ones,  than 
the  gorgeous,  uncouth,  mechanical  head-gear  of  the  time, 
and  adorns,  not  hides,  her  hair,  that  goodly  ornament 
fitted  to  her  head  by  craft  divine.  So  the  good  lassf 
being  questioned  close,  did  let  me  know  the  rosebuds 
are  cut  in  summer  and  laid  then  in  great  clay  pots,  thus 
ordered :  first  bay  salt,  then  a  row  of  buds,  and  over  that 
row  bay  salt  sprinkled :  then  another  row  of  buds  placed 
crosswise:  for  they. say  it  is  death  to  the  buds  to  touch 
one  another ;  and  so  on.  buds  and  salt  in  layers.  Then 
each  pot  is  covered  and  soldered  tight,  and  kept  in  cool 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  71 


cellar.  And  on  Saturday  night  the  master  of  the  house, 
or  mistress,  if  master  be  none,  opens  a  pot,  and  doles  the 
rosebuds  out  to  every  female  in  the  house,  high  or  low, 
withouten  grudge  ;  then  solders  it  up  again.  And  such 
as  of  these  buds  would  full-blown  roses  make,  put  them 
in  warm  water  a  little  space,  or  else  in  the  stove,  and 
then  with  tiny  brush  and  soft,  wetted  in  Rhenish  wine, 
do  coax  them  till  they  ope  their  folds.  And  some  per- 
fume them  with  rosewater.  For,  alack,  their  smell  it  is 
fled  with  the  summer;  and  only  their  fair  bodyes  lie 
withouten  soul,  in  tomb  of  clay,  awaiting  resurrection. 

"And  some  with  the  roses  and  buds  mix  nutmegs 
gilded,  but  not  by  my  good  will ;  for  gold,  brave  in 
itself,  cheek  by  jowl  with  roses,  is  but  yellow  earth. 
And  it  does  the  eye's  heart  good  to  see  these  fair  heads 
of  hair  come,  blooming  with  roses,  over  snowy  roads,  and 
by  snow-capped  hedges,  setting  winter's  beauty  by  the 
side  of  summer's  glory.  For  what  so  fair  as  winter's 
lilies,  snow  yclept,  and  what  so  brave  as  roses  ?  And 
shouldst  have  had  a  picture  here,  but  for  their  supersti- 
tion. Leaned  a  lass  in  Sunday  garb,  cross-ankled,  against 
her  cottage  corner,  whose  low  roof  was  snow-clad,  and 
with  her  crantz  did  seem  a  summer  flower  sprouting 
from  winter's  bosom.  I  drew  rein,  and  out  pencil  and 
brush  to  limn  her  for  thee.  But  the  simpleton,  fearing 
the  evil  eye,  or  glamour,  claps  both  hands  to  her  face 
and  flies  panic-stricken.  But,  indeed,  they  are  not  more 
superstitious  than  the  Sevenbergen  folk,  which  take  thy 
father  for  a  magician.  Yet  softly,  sith  at  this  moment 
I  profit  by  this  darkness  of  their  minds  ;  for,  at  first, 
sitting  down  to  write  this  diary,  I  could  frame  nor 
thought  nor  word,  so  harried  and  deaved  was  I  with 
noise  of  mechanical  persons,  and  hoarse  laughter  at  dull 
jests  of  one  of  these  parti-colored  ' fools,'  which  are  so 
rife  in  Germany.    But  oh,  sorry  wit,  that  is  driven  to 


72  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

the  poor  resource  of  pointed  ear-caps,  and  a  green  and 
yellow  body.  True  wit,  methinks,  is  of  the  mind.  We 
met  in  Burgundy  an  honest  Avench,  though  over  free  for 
my  palate,  a  chambermaid,  had  made  havoc  of  all  these 
zanies,  droll  by  brute  force.  Oh,  digressor !  Well,  then, 
I  to  be  rid  of  roaring  rusticalls,  and  mindless  jests,  put 
my  finger  in  a  glass  and  drew  on  the  table  a  great  watery 
circle  ;  whereat  the  rusticalls  did  look  askant,  like  ven- 
ison at  a  cat ;  and  in  that  circle  a  smaller  circle.  The 
rusticalls  held  their  peace ;  and  beside  these  circles 
cabalistical,  I  laid  down  on  the  table  solemnly  yon 
parchment  deed  I  had  out  of  your  house.  The  rusti- 
calls held  their  breath.  Then  did  I  look  as  glum  as 
might  be,  and  muttered  slowly  thus  :  '  Videamus  —  quam 
diu  tu  fictus  morio  —  vosque  veri  stulti  —  audebitis  —  in 
hue  aula  morari,  strepitantes  ita  —  et  olentes  —  ut  dulcis- 
simce  nequeam  miser  seribere.''  They  shook  like  aspens, 
and  stole  away  on  tiptoe  one  by  one  at  first,  then  in  a 
rush  and  jostling,  and  left  me  alone ;  and  most  sacred  of 
all  was  the  fool :  never  earned  jester  fairer  his  ass's  ears. 
So  rubbed  I  their  foible,  who  first  rubbed  mine ;  for  of 
all  a  traveller's  foes  I  dread  those  giants  twain,  Sir 
Noise,  and  eke  Sir  Stench.  The  saints  and  martyrs  for- 
give my  peevishness.  Thus  I  write  to  thee  in  balmy 
peace,  and  tell  thee  trivial  things  scarce  worthy  ink, 
also  how  I  love  thee,  which  there  was  no  need  to  tell, 
for  well  thou  knowest  it.  And,  oh,  dear  Margaret,  look- 
ing on  their  roses,  which  grew  in  summer,  but  blow  in 
winter,  I  see  the  picture  of  our  true  affection ;  born  it 
was  in  smiles  and  bliss,  but  soon  adversity  beset  us  sore 
with  many  a  bitter  blast.  Yet  our  love  hath  lost  no  leaf, 
thank  God,  but  blossoms  full  and  fair  as  ever,  proof 
against  frowns,  and  gibes,  and  prison,  and  banishment, 
as  those  sweet  German  flowers  a-blooming  in  winter's 
snow. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


73 


u  January  2.  — My  servant,  the  count,  finding  me  curi- 
ous, took  me  to  the  stables  of  the  prince  that  rules  this 
part.  In  the  first  court  was  a  horse-bath,  adorned  with 
twenty-two  pillars,  graven  with  the  prince's  arms ;  and 
also  the  horse-leech's  shop,  so  furnished  as  a  rich  apoth- 
cary  might  envy.  The  stable  is  a  fair  quadrangle  whereof 
three  sides  filled  with  horses  of  all  nations.  Before  each 
horse's  nose  was  a  glazed  window,  with  a  green  curtain 
to  be  drawn  at  pleasure,  and  at  his  tail  a  thick  wooden 
pillar  with  a  brazen  shield,  whence  by  turning  of  a  pipe 
he  is  watered,  and  serves  too  for  a  cupboard  to  keep  his 
Bomb  and  rubbing  clothes.  Each  rack  was  iron,  and  each 
manger  shining  copper,  and  each  nag  covered  with  a 
scarlet  mantle,  and  above  him  his  bridle  and  saddle 
hung,  ready  to  gallop  forth  in  a  minute ;  and  not  less 
than  two  hundred  horses,  whereof  twelve  score  of  foreign 
breed.  And  Ave  returned  to  our  inn  full  of  admiration, 
and  the  two  varlets  said  sorrowfully,  '  Why  were  we  born 
with  two  legs  ? '  And  one  of  the  grooms  that  was  civil, 
and  had  of  me  trinkgeld,  stood  now  at  his  cottage  door 
and  asked  us  in.  There  we  found  his  wife,  and  children 
of  all  ages,  from  five  to  eighteen,  and  had  but  one  room 
to  bide  and  sleep  in,  a  thing  pestiferous  and  most  uncivil. 
Then  I  asked  my  servant,  knew  he  this  prince  ?  Ay, 
did  he,  and  had  often  drunk  with  him  in  a  marble  cham- 
ber above  the  stable,  where,  for  table,  was  a  curious  and 
artificial  rock,  and  the  drinking  vessels  hang  on  its  pin- 
nacles, and  at  the  hottest  of  the  engagement  a  statue 
of  a  horseman  in  bronze  came  forth  bearing  a  bowl  of 
liquor,  and  he  that  sat  nearest  behooved  to  drain  it. 
"Tis  well,'  said  I:  'now,  for  thy  penance,  whisper  thou 
in  yon  prince's  ear,  that  God  hath  given  him  his  people 
freely,  and  not  sought  a  price  for  them  as  for  horses. 
And  pray  him  look  inside  the  huts  at  his  horse-palace 
door,  and  bethink  himself  is  it  well  to  house  his  horses, 


7-4 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


and  stable  his  folk.'  Said  he,  '  'Twill  give  sore  offence.' 
'  But,'  said  I,  '  ye  must  do  it  discreetly  and  choose  your 
time.'  So  he  promised.  And  riding  on  we  heard  plaint- 
ive cries.  'Alas/  said  I,  'some  sore  mischance  hath 
befallen  some  poor  soul :  what  may  it  be  ?  And  we 
rode  up,  and  lo  !  it  was  a  wedding  feast,  and  the  guests 
were  plying  the  business  of  drinking,  sad  and  silent,  but 
ever  and  anon  cried  loud  and  dolefully,  '  Seyte  frolich  / 
Be  merry.' 

"January  3.  —  Yesterday  between  Numberg  and  Augs- 
burg we  parted  company.  I  gave  my  lord,  late  servant, 
back  his  brave  clothes  for  mine ;  but  his  horse  he  made 
me  keep,  and  five  gold  pieces,  and  said  he  was  still  my 
debtor ;  his  penance  it  had  been  slight  along  of  me,  but 
profitable.  But  his  best  word  was  this  :  '  I  see  'tis  more 
noble  to  be  loved  than  feared.'  And  then  he  did  so 
praise  me  as  I  blush  to  put  on  paper;  yet,  poor  fool, 
would  fain  thou  couldst  hear  his  words,  but  from  some 
other  pen  than  mine.  And  the  servants  did  heartily 
grasp  my  hand,  and  wish  me  good  luck.  And  riding 
apace,  yet  could  I  not  reach  Augsburg  till  the  gates  were 
closed ;  but  it  mattered  little,  for  this  Augsburg  it  is  an 
enchanted  city.  For  a  small  coin  one  took  me  a  long 
way  round  to  a  famous  postern  called  der  Einlasse. 
Here  stood  two  guardians,  like  statues.  To  them  I  gave 
my  name  and  business.  They  nodded  me  leave  to  knock. 
I  knocked,  and  the  iron  gate  opened  with  a  great  noise 
and  hollow  rattling  of  a  chain,  but  no  hand  seen  nor 
chain ;  and  he,  who  drew  the  hidden  chain,  sits  a  butt's 
length  from  the  gate ;  and  I  rode  in,  and  the  gate  closed 
with  a  clang  after  me.  I  found  myself  in  a  great  build- 
ing with  a  bridge  at  my  feet.  This  I  rode  over,  and 
presently  came  to  a  porter's  lodge,  where  one  asked  me 
again  my  name  and  business,  then  rang  a  bell,  and  a 
great  portcullis  that  barred  the  way  began  to  rise,  drawn 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  75 

by  a  wheel  overhead,  and  no  hand  seen.  Behind  the 
portcullis  was  a  thick  oaken  door  studded  with  steel.  It 
opened  without  hand,  and  I  rode  into  a  hall  as  dark  as 
pitch.  Trembling  there  a  while,  a  door  opened  and 
showed  me  a  smaller  hall  lighted.  I  rode  into  it ;  a  tin 
goblet  came  down  from  the  ceiling  by  a  little  chain ;  I 
put  two  batzen  into  it,  and  it  went  up  again.  Being 
gone,  another  thick  door  creaked  and  opened,  and  I  rid 
through.  It  closed  on  me  with  a  tremendous  clang,  and 
behold  me  in  Augsburg  city.  I  lay  at  an  inn  called 
'  The  Three  Moors/  over  an  hundred  years  old ;  and,  this 
morning,  according  to  my  way  of  viewing  towns  to  learn 
their  compass  and  shape,  I  mounted  the  highest  tower  I 
could  find,  and  setting  my  dial  at  my  foot  surveyed  the 
beautiful  city;  whole  streets  of  palaces,  and  churches 
tiled  with  copper  burnished  like  gold;  and  the  house- 
fronts  gayly  painted  and  all  glazed,  and  the  glass  so 
clean  and  burnished  as  'tis  most  resplendent  and  rare ; 
and  I,  now  first  seeing  a  great  citie,  did  crow  with 
delight,  and  like  cock  on  his  ladder,  and  at  the  tower 
foot  was  taken  into  custody  for  a  spy;  for  whilst  I 
watched  the  city  the  watchman  had  watched  me.  The 
burgomaster  received  me  courteously  and  heard  my 
story ;  then  rebuked  he  the  officers.  '  Could  ye  not  ques- 
tion him  yourselves,  or  read  in  his  face  ?  This  is  to 
make  our  city  stink  in  strangers'  report.'  Then  he  told 
me  my  curiosity  was  of  a  commendable  sort ;  and  seeing 
I  was  a  craftsman  and  inquisitive,  bade  his  clerk  take 
me  among  the  guilds.  God  bless  the  city  where  the 
very  burgomaster  is  cut  of  Solomon's  cloth ! 

"  January  5.  —  Dear  Margaret,  it  is  a  noble  city,  and  a 
kind  mother  to  arts.  Here  they  cut  in  wood  and  ivory, 
that  'tis  like  spider's  work,  and  paint  on  glass,  and  sing 
angelical  harmonies.  Writing  of  books  is  quite  gone  by ; 
here  be  six  printers.    Yet  was  I  offered  a  bountiful  wage 


76 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


to  write  fairly  a  merchant's  accounts,  one  Fugger,  a 
grand  and  wealthy  trader,  and  hath  store  of  ships,  yet 
his  father  was  but  a  poor  weaver.  But  here  in  com- 
merce her  very  garden,  men  swell  like  mushrooms. 
And  he  bought  my  horse  of  me,  and  abated  me  not  a  jot, 
which  way  of  dealing  is  not  known  in  Holland.  But, 

0  Margaret !  the  workmen  of  all  the  guilds  are  so  kind 
and  brotherly  to  one  another,  and  to  me.   Here,  methinks, 

1  have  found  the  true  German  mind,  loyal,  frank,  and 
kindly,  somewhat  choleric  withal,  but  nought  revengeful. 
Each  mechanic  wears  a  sword.  The  very  weavers  at  the 
loom  sit  girded  with  their  weapons,  and  all  Germans  on 
too  slight  occasion  draw  them  and  fight ;  but  no  treach- 
ery j  challenge  first,  then  draw,  and  with  the  edge  only, 
mostly  the  face,  not  with  Sir  Point ;  for  if  in  these  com- 
bats one  thrust  at  his  adversary  and  hurt  him,  'tis  called 
ein  schelemstucke,  a  heinous  act;  both  men  and  women 
turn  their  backs  on  him ;  and  even  the  judges  punish 
thrusts  bitterly,  but  pass  over  cuts.  Hence  in  Germany 
be  good  store  of  scarred  faces,  three  in  five  at  least,  and 
in  France  scarce  more  than  one  in  three. 

"But  in  arts  mechanical  no  citizens  may  compare 
with  these.  Fountains  in  every  street  that  play  to 
heaven,  and  in  the  gardens  seeming  trees,  which  being 
approached,  one  standing  afar  touches  a  spring,  and 
every  twig  shoots  water,  and  souses  the  guests  to  their 
host's  much  delectation.  Big  culverins  of  war  they  cast 
with  no  more  ado  than  our  folk  horse-shoes,  and  have 
done  this  fourscore  years.  All  stuffs  they  weave,  and 
linen  fine  as  ours  at  home,  or  nearly,  which  elsewhere  in 
Europe  vainly  shall  you  seek.  Sir  Printing  Press  —  sore 
foe  to  poor  Gerard,  but  to  other  humans  beneficial  — 
plyeth  by  night  and  day,  and  casteth  goodly  words  like 
sower  a-field ;  while  I,  poor  fool,  can  but  sow  them  as  I 
saw  women  in  France  sow  rye,  dribbling  it  in  the  furrow 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


77 


grain  by  grain.  And  of  their  strange  mechanical  skill 
take  two  examples.  For  ending  of  exemplary  rogues 
they  have  a  figure  like  a  woman,  seven  feet  high,  and 
called  Jung  Frau ;  but  lo,  a  spring  is  touched :  she  seiz- 
eth  the  poor  wretch  with  iron  arms,  and  opening  herself, 
hales  him  inside  her,  and  there  pierces  him  through  and 
through  with  twoscore  lances.  Secondly,  in  all  great 
houses  the  spit  is  turned  not  by  a  scrubby  boy,  but  by 
smoke.  Ay,  mayst  well  admire,  and  judge  me  a  lying 
knave.  These  cunning  Germans  do  set  in  the  chimney 
a  little  windmill,  and  the  smoke  struggling  to  wend  past, 
turns  it,  and  from  the  mill  a  wire  runs  through  the  wall 
and  turns  the  spit  on  wheels ;  beholding  which  I  doffed 
my  bonnet  to  the  men  of  Augsburg,  for  who  but  these 
had  ere  devised  to  bind  ye  so  dark  and  subtle  a  knave  as 
Sir  Smoke,  and  set  him  to  roast  Dame  Pullet  ? 

"This  day,  January  8,  with  three  craftsmen  of  the 
town,  I  painted  a  pack  of  cards.  They  were  for  a  sena- 
tor in  a  hurry.  I  the  diamonds.  My  queen  came  forth 
with  eyes  like  spring  violets,  hair  a  golden  brown,  and 
witching  smile.  My  fellow-craftsmen  saw  her,  and  put 
their  arms  round  my  neck  and  hailed  me  master.  Oh, 
noble  Germans  !  No  jealousy  of  a  brother-workman;  no 
sour  looks  at  a  stranger;  and  would  have  me  spend 
Sunday  with  them  after  matins ;  and  the  merchant  paid 
me  so  richly,  as  I  was  ashamed  to  take  the  guerdon ;  and 
I  to  my  inn,  and  tried  to  paint  the  queen  of  diamonds 
for  poor  Gerard ;  but  no,  she  would  not  come  like  again. 
Luck  will  not  be  bespoke.  Oh,  happy  rich  man  that 
hath  got  her  !  Fie  !  fie  !  Happy  Gerard,  that  shall  have 
herself  one  day,  and  keep  house  with  her  at  Augsburg. 

"January  8.  —  With  my  fellows,  and  one  Yeit  Stoss, 
a  wood-carver,  and  one  Hafnagel,  of  the  goldsmiths' 
guild,  and  their  wives  and  lasses,  to  Hafnagel's  cousin,  a 
senator  of  this  free  city,  and  his  stupendous  wine-vessel. 


78 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


It  is  ribbed  like  a  ship,  and  hath  been  eighteen  months 
in  hand,  and  finished  but  now,  and  holds  a  hundred  and 
fifty  hogsheads,  and  standeth  not,  but  lieth ;  yet  even  so 
ye  get  not  on  his  back  withouten  ladders  two,  of  thirty 
steps.  And  we  sat  about  the  miraculous  mass,  and 
drank  Rhenish  from  it,  drawn  by  a  little  artificial  pump, 
and  the  lasses  pinned  their  crantzes  to  it,  and  we  danced 
round  it,  and  the  senator  danced  on  its  back,  but  with 
drinking  of  so  many  garausses,  lost  his  footing  and  fell 
off,  glass  in  hand,  and  broke  an  arm  and  a  leg  in  the 
midst  of  us.  So  scurvily  ended  our  drinking  bout  for 
this  time. 

"  January  10.  —  This  day  started  for  Venice  with  a 
company  of  merchants,  and  among  them  him  who  had 
desired  me  for  his  scrivener ;  and  so  we  are  now  agreed, 
I  to  write  at  night  the  letters  he  shall  diet,  and  other 
matters,  he  to  feed  and  lodge  me  on  the  road.  We  be 
many  and  armed,  and  soldiers  with  us  to  boot,  so  fear 
not  the  thieves  which  men  say  lie  on  the  borders  of 
Italy.  But  an  if  I  find  the  printing  press  at  Venice  I 
trow  I  shall  not  go  unto  Rome,  for  man  may  not  vie 
with  iron. 

"  Imprimit  una  dies  quantum  non  scribitur  anno.  And, 
dearest,  something  tells  me  you  and  I  shall  end  our  days 
at  Augsburg,  whence  going,  I  shall  leave  it  all  I  can  — 
my  blessing. 

"  January  12.  —  My  master  affecteth  me  much,  and 
now  maketh  me  sit  with  him  in  his  horse-litter.  A 
grave  good  man,  of  all  respected,  but  sad  for  loss  of  a 
dear  daughter,  and  loveth  my  psaltery  ;  not  giddy-paced 
ditties,  but  holy  harmonies  such  as  Cul  de  Jatte  made 
wry  mouths  at.  So  many  men,  so  many  minds.  But 
cooped  in  horse-litter  and  at  night  writing  his  letters, 
my  journal  halteth. 

"  January  14.  —  When  not  attending  on  my  good  mer- 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  79 


chant,  I  consort  with  such  of  our  company  as  are  Italians, 
for  'tis  to  Italy  I  wend,  and  I  am  ill  seen  in  Italian 
tongue.  A  courteous  and  a  subtle  people ;  at  meat  deli- 
cate feeders,  and  cleanly :  love  not  to  put  their  left  hand 
in  the  dish.  They  say  Venice  is  the  garden  of  Lombardy, 
Lombardy  the  garden  of  Italy,  Italy  of  the  world. 

"  January  16.  —  Strong  ways  and  steep,  and  the  mount- 
ain-girls so  girded  up,  as  from  their  armpits  to  their 
waist  is  but  a  handful.  Of  all  the  garbs  I  yet  have  seen, 
the  most  unlovely. 

"  January  18.  —  In  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  death. 
Oh !  dear  Margaret,  I  thought  I  had  lost  thee.  Here  I 
lie  in  pain  and  dole,  and  shall  write  thee  that,  which 
read  you  it  in  a  romance  ye  should  cry,  '  Most  improba- 
ble ! '  And  so  still  wondering  that  I  am  alive  to  write 
it,  and  thanking  for  it  God  and  the  saints,  this  is  what 
befell  thy  Gerard.  Yestreen  I  wearied  of  being  shut  up 
in  litter,  and  of  the  mule's  slow  pace,  and  so  went  for- 
ward ;  and  being,  I  know  not  why,  strangely  full  of  spirit 
and  hope,  as  I  have  heard  befall  some  men  when  on 
trouble's  brink,  seemed  to  tread  on  air,  and  soon  dis- 
tanced them  all.  Presently  I  came  to  two  roads,  and 
took  the  larger ;  I  should  have  taken  the  smaller.  After 
travelling  a  good  half-hour,  I  found  my  error,  and 
returned ;  and  deeming  my  company  had  long  passed  by, 
pushed  bravely  on,  but  I  could  not  overtake  them ;  and 
small  wonder,  as  you  shall  hear.  Then  I  was  anxious, 
and  ran,  but  bare  was  the  road  of  those  I  sought ;  and 
night  came  down,  and  the  wild  beasts  afoot,  and  I 
bemoaned  my  folly ;  also  I  was  hungered.  The  moon 
rose  clear  and  bright  exceedingly,  and  presently,  a  little 
way  off  the  road,  I  saw  a  tall  wind-mill.  i Come,'  said  I, 
*  mayhap  the  miller  will  take  ruth  on  me.'  Near  the 
mill  was  a  haystack,  and  scattered  about  were  store  of 
little  barrels  j  but,  lo!  they  were  not  flour-barrels,  but 


80 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


tar-barrels,  one  or  two,  and  the  rest  of  spirits,  Brant 
vein  and  Schiedam ;  I  knew  them  momently,  having  seen 
the  like  in  Holland.  I  knocked  at  the  mill-door,  but 
none  answered.  I  lifted  the  latch,  and  the  door  opened 
inwards.  I  went  in,  and  gladly,  for  the  night  was  fine 
but  cold,  and  a  rime  on  the  trees,  which  were  a  kind  of 
lofty  sycamores.  There  was  a  stove,  but  black ;  I  lighted 
it  with  some  of  the  hay  and  wood,  for  there  was  a  great 
pile  of  wood  outside,  and,  I  know  not  how,  I  went  to 
sleep.  Not  long  had  I  slept,  I  trow,  when  hearing  a 
noise  1  awoke,  and  there  were  a  dozen  men  around  me, 
with  wild  faces,  and  long  black  hair,  and  black  sparkling 
eyes." 

Catherine.  Oh,  my  poor  boy  !  those  black-haired  ones 
do  still  scare  me  to  look  on. 

"  I  made  my  excuses  in  such  Italian  as  I  knew,  and 
eking  out  by  signs.  They  grinned.  'I  had  lost  my 
company.'  They  grinned.  'I  was  an  hungered.'  Still 
they  grinned,  and  spoke  to  one  another  in  a  tongue  I 
knew  not.  At  last  one  gave  me  a  piece  of  bread  and  a 
tin  mug  of  wine,  as  I  thought,  but  it  was  spirits  neat. 
I  made  a  wry  face,  and  asked  for  water ;  then  these  wild 
men  laughed  a  horrible  laugh.  I  thought  to  fly,  but, 
looking  towards  the  door,  it  was  bolted  with  two  enor- 
mous bolts  of  iron ;  and  now  first,  as  I  ate  my  bread,  I 
saw  it  was  all  guarded  too,  and  ribbed  with  iron.  My 
blood  curdled  within  me,  and  yet  I  could  not  tell  thee 
why;  but  hadst  thou  seen  the  faces,  wild,  stupid,  and 
ruthless.  I  mumbled  my  bread,  not  to  let  them  see  I 
feared  them ;  but  oh,  it  cost  me  to  swallow  it  and  keep  it 
in  me.  Then  it  whirled  in  my  brain,  was  there  no  way 
to  escape  ?  Said  I,  '  They  will  not  let  me  forth  by  the 
door;  these  be  smugglers  or  robbers.'  So  I  feigned 
drowsiness,  and  taking  out  two  batzen  said,  '  Good  men, 
for  our  Lady's  grace  let  me  lie  on  a  bed  and  sleep,  for  I 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  81 


am  faint  with,  travel/  They  nodded  and  grinned  their 
horrible  grin,  and  bade  one  light  a  lanthorn  and  lead  me. 
He  took  me  np  a  winding  staircase,  up,  up,  and  I  saw  no 
windows,  but  the  wooden  walls  were  pierced  like  a  barbi- 
can tower,  and  methinks  for  the  same  purpose ;  and 
through  these  slits  I  got  glimpses  of  the  sky,  and 
thought,  '  Shall  I  e'er  see  thee  again  ? '  He  took  me  to 
the  very  top  of  the  mill,  and  there  was  a  room  with  a 
heap  of  straw  in  one  corner,  and  many  empty  barrels, 
and  by  the  wall  a  truckle-bed.  He  pointed  to  it,  and 
went  down-stairs  heavily,  taking  the  light,  for  in  this 
room  was  a  great  window,  and  the  moon  came  in  bright. 
I  looked  out  to  see,  and  lo,  it  was  so  high  that  even  the 
mill  sails  at  their  highest  came  not  up  to  my  window  by 
some  feet,  but  turned  very  slow  and  stately  underneath, 
for  wind  there  was  scarce  a  breath ;  and  the  trees  seemed 
silver  filagree  made  by  angel  craftsmen.  My  hope  of 
flight  was  gone. 

"But  now,  those  wild  faces  being  out  of  sight,  I  smiled 
at  my  fears  :  what  an  if  they  were  ill  men,  would  it 
profit  them  to  hurt  me  ?  Natheless,  for  caution  against 
surprise,  I  would  put  the  bed  against  the  door.  I  went 
to  move  it,  but  could  not.  It  was  free  at  the  head,  but 
at  the  foot  fast  clamped  with  iron  to  the  floor.  So  I 
flung  my  psaltery  on  the  bed,  but  for  myself  made  a 
layer  of  straw  at  the  door,  so  as  none  could  open  on  me 
unawares.  And  I  laid  my  sword  ready  to  my  hand,  and 
said  my  prayers  for  thee  and  me,  and  turned  to  sleep. 

"Below  they  drank  and  made  merry.  And  hearing 
this  gave  me  confidence.  Said  I,  'Out  of  sight,  out  of 
mind.  Another  hour,  and  the  good  Schiedam  will  make 
them  forget  that  I  am  here.'  And  so  I  composed  myself 
to  sleep.  And  for  some  time  could  not  for  the  boister- 
ous mirth  below.  At  last  I  dropped  off.  How  long  I 
slept  I  knew  not ;  but  I  woke  with  a  start :  the  noise 
6 


82 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


had  ceased  below,  and  the  sudden  silence  woke  me.  And 
scarce  was  I  awake,  when  sudden  the  truckle  bed  was 
gone  with  a  loud  clang  all  but  the  feet,  and  the  floor 
yawned,  and  I  heard  my  psaltery  fall  and  break  to  atoms, 
deep,  deep,  below  the  very  floor  of  the  mill.  It  had  fallen 
into  a  well.    And  so  had  I  done,  lying  where  it  lay." 

Margaret  shuddered,  and  put  her  face  in  her  hands ; 
but  speedily  resumed. 

"  I  lay  stupefied  at  first.  Then  horror  fell  on  me,  and 
I  rose,  but  stood  rooted  there,  shaking  from  head  to  foot. 
At  last  I  found  myself  looking  down  into  that  fearsome 
gap,  and  my  very  hair  did  bristle  as  I  peered.  And  then, 
I  remember,  I  turned  quite  calm,  and  made  up  my  mind 
to  die  sword  in  hand.  For  I  saw  no  man  must  know  this 
their  bloody  secret  and  live.  And  I  said,  'Poor  Mar- 
garet ! 9  And  I  took  out  of  my  bosom,  where  they  lie 
ever,  our  marriage  lines,  and  kissed  them  again  and 
again.  And  I  pinned  them  to  my  shirt  again,  that  they 
might  lie  in  one  grave  with  me,  if  die  I  must.  And  I 
thought,  '  All  our  love  and  hopes  to  end  thus  ! '  " 

Mi  Whisht  all !  Their  marriage  lines  ?  Give  her 
time  !  But  no  word.  I  can  bear  no  chat.  My  poor 
lad! 

During  the  long  pause  that  ensued,  Catherine  leaned 
forward  and  passed  something  adroitly  from  her  own  lap 
under  her  daughter's  apron,  who  sat  next  her. 

"Presently  thinking,  all  in  a  whirl,  of  all  that  ever 
passed  between  us,  and  taking  leave  of  all  those  pleasant 
hours,  I  called  to  mind  how  one  day  at  Sevenbergen  thou 
taughtest  me  to  make  a  rope  of  straw.  Mindest  thou  ? 
The  moment  memory  brought  that  happy  day  back  to 
me,  I  cried  out  very  loud,  '  Margaret  gives  me  a  chance 
for  life  even  here  ! '  I  woke  from  my  lethargy.  I  seized 
on  the  straw  and  twisted  it  eagerly,  as  thou  didst  teach 
me,  but  my  fingers  trembled  and  delayed  the  task. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  83 


Whiles  I  wrought  I  heard  a  door  open  below.  That 
was  a  terrible  moment.  Even  as  I  twisted  my  rope  I 
got  to  the  window  and  looked  down  at  the  great  arms  of 
the  mill  coming  slowly  up,  then  passing,  then  turning 
less  slowly  down,  as  it  seemed  ;  and  I  thought, '  They  go 
not  as  when  there  is  wind  :  yet,  slow  or  fast,  what  man 
rid  ever  on  such  steed  as  these,  and  lived  ?  Yet,'  said  I, 
'  better  trust  to  them  and  God,  than  to  ill  men.'  And  I 
prayed  to  Him  whom  even  the  wind  obeyeth. 

"Dear  Margaret,  I  fastened  my  rope,  and  let  myself 
gently  down,  and  fixed  my  eye  on  that  huge  arm  of  the 
mill,  which  then  was  creeping  up  to  me,  and  went  to 
spring  on  to  it.  But  my  heart  failed  me  at  the  pinch. 
And  methought  it  was  not  near  enow.  And  it  passed  calm 
and  awful  by.  I  watched  for  another  ;  they  were  three. 
And  after  a  little  while  one  crept  up  slower  than  the  rest 
methought.  And  I  with  my  foot  thrust  myself  in  good 
time  somewhat  out  from  the  wall,  and  crying  aloud, 
'  Margaret ! '  did  grip  with  all  my  soul  the  woodwork 
of  the  sail,  and  that  moment  was  swimming  in  the  air." 

Giles.    Well  done  !  well  done  ! 

"  Motion  I  felt  little  ;  but  the  stars  seemed  to  go  round 
the  sky,  and  then  the  grass  came  up  to  me  nearer  and 
nearer,  and  when  the  hoary  grass  was  quite  close  I  was 
sent  rolling  along  it  as  if  hurled  from  a  catapult,  and  got 
up  breathless,  and  every  point  and  tie  about  me  broken. 
I  rose,  but  fell  down  again  in  agony.  I  had  but  one  leg 
I  could  stand  on." 

Catherine.  Eh  !  dear  !  his  leg  is  broke,  my  boy's  leg 
is  broke. 

"And,  e'en  as  I  lay  groaning,  I  heard  a  sound  like 
thunder.  It  was  the  assassins  running  up  the  stairs. 
The  crazy  old  mill  shook  under  them.  They  must  have 
found  I  had  not  fallen  into  their  bloody  trap,  and  were 
running  to  despatch  me.    Margaret,  I  felt  no  feart  for  I 


84  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


had  now  no  hope.  I  could  neither  run,  nor  hide  ;  so  wild 
the  place,  so  bright  the  moon.  I  struggled  up  all  agony 
and  revenge,  more  like  some  wounded  wild  beast  than 
your  Gerard.  Leaning  on  my  sword  hilt  I  hobbled 
round ;  and  swift  as  lightning,  or  vengeance,  I  heaped 
a  great  pile  of  their  hay  and  wood  at  the  mill  door :  then 
drove  my  dagger  into  a  barrel  of  their  smuggled  spirits, 
and  flung  it  on  ;  then  out  with  my  tinder  and  lighted  the 
pile.  '  This  will  bring  true  men  round  my  dead  body,' 
said  I.  '  Aha  ! '  I  cried,  '  think  you  I'll  die  alone,  cow- 
ards, assassins,  reckless  fiends  ! '  and  at  each  word  on 
went  a  barrel  pierced.  But,  0  Margaret !  the  fire  fed 
by  the  spirits  surprised  me  :  it  shot  up  and  singed  my 
very  hair ;  it  went  roaring  up  the  side  of  the  mill  swift 
as  falls  the  lightning :  and  I  jelled  and  laughed  in  my 
torture  and  despair,  and  pierced  more  barrels,  and  the 
very  tar-barrels,  and  flung  them  on.  The  fire  roared  like 
a  lion  for  its  prey,  and  voices  answered  it  inside  from 
the  top  of  the  mill,  and  the  feet  came  thundering  down, 
and  I  stood  as  near  that  awful  fire  as  I  could,  with 
uplifted  sword  to  slay  and  be  slain.  The  bolt  was  drawn. 
A  tar-barrel  caught  fire.  The  door  was  opened.  What 
followed  ?  Not  the  men  came  out,  but  the  fire  rushed  in 
at  them  like  a  living  death,  and  the  first  I  thought  to 
fight  with  was  blackened  and  crumpled  on  the  floor  like 
a  leaf.  One  fearsome  yell,  and  dumb  forever.  The  feet 
ran  up  again,  but  fewer.  I  heard  them  hack  with  their 
swords  a  little  way  up,  at  the  mill's  wooden  sides  ;  but 
they  had  no  time  to  hew  their  way  out :  the  fire  and  reek 
were  at  their  heels,  and  the  smoke  burst  out  at  every 
loop-hole,  and  oozed  blue  in  the  moonlight  through  each 
crevice.  I  hobbled  back,  racked  with  pain  and  fury. 
There  were  white  faces  up  at  my  window.  They  saw 
me.  They  cursed  me.  I  cursed  them  back,  and  shook 
my  naked  sword :  '  Come  down  the  road  I  came/  I  cried. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  85 

'But  ye  must  come  one  by  one,  and,  as  ye  come,  ye  die 
upon  this  steel.'  Some  cursed  at  that,  but  others  wailed. 
For  I  had  them  all  at  deadly  vantage.  And,  doubtless, 
with  my  smoke-grimed  face  and  fiendish  rage  I  looked  a 
demon.  And  now  there  was  a  steady  roar  inside  the 
mill.  The  flame  was  going  up  it  as  furnace  up  its  chim- 
ney. The  mill  caught  fire.  Fire  glimmered  through  it. 
Tongues  of  flame  darted  through  each  loop-hole  and  shot 
sparks  and  fiery  flakes  into  the  night.  One  of  the  assas- 
sins leaped  on  to  the  sail  as  I  had  done.  In  his  hurry 
he  missed  his  grasp  and  fell  at  my  feet,  and  bounded 
from  the  hard  ground  like  a  ball,  and  never  spoke  nor 
moved  again.  And  the  rest  screamed  like  women,  and 
with  their  despair  came  back  to  me  both  ruth  for  them 
and  hope  of  life  for  myself.  And  the  fire  gnawed  through 
the  mill  in  placen,  and  shot  forth  showers  of  great  flat 
sparks  like  flakes  of  fiery  snow ;  and  the  sails  caught  fire 
one  after  another ;  and  I  became  a  man  again  and  stag- 
gered away  terror-stricken,  leaning  on  my  sword,  from 
the  sight  of  my  revenge,  and  with  great  bodily  pain 
crawled  back  to  the  road.  And,  dear  Margaret,  the  rimy 
trees  were  now  all  like  pyramids  of  golden  filagree,  and 
lace,  cobweb  fine,  in  the  red  firelight.  Oh  !  most  beau- 
tiful. And  a  poor  wretch  got  entangled  in  the  burning 
sails,  and  whirled  round  screaming,  and  lost  hold  at  the 
wrong  time,  and  hurled  like  stone  from  mangonel  high 
into  the  air  ;  then  a  dull  thump  ;  it  was  his  carcass  strik- 
ing the  earth.  The  next  moment  there  was  a  loud  crash. 
The  mill  fell  in  on  its  destroyer,  and  a  million  great 
sparks  flew  up,  and  the  sails  fell  over  the  burning  wreck, 
and  at  that  a  million  more  sparks  flew  up,  and  the  ground 
was  strewn  with  burning  wood  and  men.  I  prayed  God 
forgive  me,  and  kneeling  with  my  back  to  that  fiery 
shambles,  I  saw  lights  on  the  road  ;  a  welcome  sight.  It 
was  a  company  coming  towards  me,  and  scarce  two  fur< 


86  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

longs  off.  I  hobbled  towards  them.  Ere  I  had  gone  far 
I  heard  a  swift  step  behind  me.  I  turned.  One  had 
escaped ;  how  escaped,  who  can  divine  ?  His  sword 
shone  in  the  moonlight.  I  feared  him ;  methought  the 
ghosts  of  all  those  dead  sat  on  that  glittering  glaive.  I 
put  my  other  foot  to  the  ground,  maugre  the  anguish, 
and  fled  towards  the  torches,  moaning  with  pain  and 
shouting  for  aid.  But  what  could  I  do  ?  He  gained  on 
me.  Behooved  me  turn  and  fight.  Denys  had  taught 
me  sword-play  in  sport.  I  wheeled,  our  swords  clashed. 
His  clothes  they  smelled  all  singed.  I  cut  swiftly  up- 
ward with  supple  hand,  and  his  dangled  bleeding  at  the 
wrist,  and  his  sword  fell ;  it  tinkled  on  the  ground.  I 
raised  my  sword  to  hew  him  should  he  stoop  for't.  He 
stood  and  cursed  me.  He  drew  his  dagger  with  his  left ; 
I  opposed  my  point,  and  dared  him  with  my  eye  to  close. 
A  great  shout  arose  behind  me  from  true  men's  throats. 
He  started.  He  spat  at  me  in  his  rage,  then  gnashed 
his  teeth  and  fled  blaspheming.  I  turned  and  saw  torches 
close  at  hand.  Lo,  they  fell  to  dancing  up  and  down 
methought,  and  the  next  —  moment  —  all  —  was  —  dark. 
I  had  —  ah!" 

Catherine.  Here,  help  !  water  !  Stand  aloof,  you  that 
be  men  ! 

Margaret  had  fainted  away. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


37 


CHAPTER  V. 

When  she  recovered,  her  head  was  on  Catherine's  arm, 
and  the  honest  half  of  the  family  she  had  invaded  like 
a  foe  stood  round  her  uttering  rough,  homely  words  of 
encouragement,  especially  Giles,  who  roared  at  her  that 
she  was  not  to  take  on  like  that.  "  Gerard  was  alive  and 
well,  or  he  could  not  have  writ  this  letter,  the  biggest 
mankind  has  seen  as  yet,  and/'  as  he  thought,  "  the  beau- 
tifullest  and  most  moving,  and  smallest  writ." 

"Ay,  good  Master  Giles,"  sighed  Margaret,  feebly,  "he 
was  alive ;  but  how  know  I  what  hath  since  befallen 
him  ?  Oh,  why  left  he  Holland  to  go  among  strangers 
fierce  as  lions  ?  And  why  did  I  not  drive  him  from  me 
sooner  than  part  him  from  his  own  flesh  and  blood? 
Forgive  me,  you  that  are  his  mother  ! " 

And  she  gently  removed  Catherine's  arm,  and  made  a 
feeble  attempt  to  slide  off  the  chair  on  to  her  knees, 
which,  after  a  brief  struggle  with  superior  force,  ended 
in  her  finding  herself  on  Catherine's  bosom.  Then  Mar- 
garet held  out  the  letter  to  Eli,  and  said  faintly  but 
sweetly,  "  I  will  trust  it  from  my  hand  now.  In  sooth, 
I  am  little  fit  to  read  any  more  —  and  —  and  —  loath  to 
leave  my  comfort : "  and  she  wreathed  her  other  arm 
round  Catherine's  neck. 

"Read  thou,  Richart,"  said  Eli ;  "thine  eyes  be  younger 
than  mine." 

Richart  took  the  letter.  "  Well,"  said  he,  "  such  writ- 
ing saw  I  never.  A  writeth  with  a  needle's  point ;  and 
clear  to  boot.  Why  is  he  not  in  my  counting-house  at 
Amsterdam  instead  of  vagabonding  it  out  yonder  ?  " 


88 


THE  CLOISTER  AJSID  THE  HEARTH. 


"  When  I  came  to  myself  I  was  seated  in  the  litter, 
and  my  good  merchant  holding  of  my  hand.  I  babbled 
I  know  not  what,  and  then  shuddered  awhile  in  silenco. 
He  put  a  horn  of  wine  to  my  lips." 

Catherine.    Bless  him  !  bless  him  J 

Eli.    Whisht ! 

"  And  I  told  him  what  had  befallen.  He  would  see 
my  leg.  It  was  sprained  sore,  and  swelled  at  the  ankle ; 
and  all  my  points  were  broken,  as  I  could  scarce  keep  up 
my  hose,  and  I  said,  '  Sir,  I  shall  be  but  a  burden  to  you, 
I  doubt,  and  can  make  you  no  harmony  now  ;  my  poor 
psaltery  it  is  broken  ; '  and  I  did  grieve  over  my  broken 
music,  companion  of  so  many  weary  leagues.  But  he 
patted  me  on  the  cheek,  and  bade  me  not  fret ;  also  he 
did  put  up  my  leg  on  a  pillow,  and  tended  me  like  a  kind 
father. 

"January  14.  I  sit  all  day  in  the  litter,  for  we  are 
pushing  forward  with  haste,  and  at  night  the  good, 
kind  merchant  sendeth  me  to  bed,  and  will  not  let  me 
work.  Strange  !  whene'er  I  fall  in  with  men  like  fiends, 
then  the  next  moment  God  still  sendeth  me  some  good 
man  or  woman,  lest  I  should  turn  away  from  human  kind. 

0  Margaret !  how  strangely  mixed  they  be,  and  how  old 

1  am  by  what  I  was  three  months  agone  !  And  lo  !  if 
good  Master  Fugger  hath  not  been  and  bought  me  a 
psaltery." 

Catherine.  Eli,  my  man,  an  yon  merchant  comes  our 
way,  let  us  buy  a  hundred  ells  of  cloth  of  him,  and  not 
higgle. 

Eli.    That  will  I,  take  your  oath  on't ! 

While  Eichart  prepared  to  read,  Kate  looked  at  her 
mother,  and  with  a  faint  blush  drew  out  a  piece  of  work 
from  under  her  apron,  and  sewed  with  head  depressed  a 
little  more  than  necessary.  On  this  her  mother  drew  a 
piece  of  work  out  of  her  pocket,  and  sewed  too,  while 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  89 


Richart  read.  Both  the  specimens  these  sweet  surrepti- 
tious creatures  now  first  exposed  to  observation  were 
babies'  caps,  and  more  than  half  finished,  which  told  a 
tale.  Horror !  they  were  like  little  monks'  cowls  in 
shape  and  delicacy. 

"  January  12.  Laid  up  in  the  litter,  and  as  good  as 
blind,  but,  halting  to  bait,  Lombardy  plains  burst  on  me. 
Oh,  Margaret !  a  land  flowing  with  milk  and  honey  ;  all 
sloping  plains,  goodly  rivers,  jocund  meadows,  delecta- 
ble orchards,  and  blooming  gardens ;  and,  though  winter, 
looks  warmer  than  poor  beloved  Holland  at  midsummer, 
and  makes  the  wanderer's  face  to  shine,  and  his  heart  to 
leap  for  joy,  to  see  earth  so  kind  and  smiling.  Here  be 
vines,  cedars,  olives,  and  cattle  plenty,  but  three  goats 
to  a  sheep.  The  draught  oxen  wear  white  linen  on  their 
necks,  and  standing  by  dark  green  olive-trees  each  one 
is  a  picture  ;  and  the  folk,  especially  women,  wear  deli- 
cate strawen  hats  with  flowers  and  leaves  fairly  imitated 
in  silk,  with  silver  mixed.  This  day  we  crossed  a  river 
prettily  in  a  chained  ferry-boat.  On  either  bank  was  a 
windlass,  and  a  single  man  by  turning  of  it  drew  our 
whole  company  to  his  shore,  whereat  I  did  admire,  being 
a  stranger.  Passed  over  with  us  some  country  folk. 
And,  an  old  woman  looking  at  a  young  wench,  she  did 
hide  her  face  with  her  hand,  and  held  her  crucifix  out 
like  knight  his  sword  in  tournay,  dreading  the  evil  eye. 

"  January  15.  Safe  at  Venice.  A  place  whose  strange 
and  passing  beauty  is  well  known  to  thee  by  report  of 
our  mariners.  Dost  mind  too  how  Peter  would  oft  fill 
our  ears  withal,  we  handed  beneath  the  table,  and  he 
still  discoursing  of  this  sea-enthroned  and  peerless  citie, 
in  shape  a  bow,  and  its  great  canal  and  palaces  on  piles, 
and  its  watery  ways  plied  by  scores  of  gilded  boats ;  and 
that  market-place  of  nations,  orbis,  non  urbis,  forum,  St. 
Mark  his  place  ?    And  his  statue  with  the  peerless 


90  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


jewels  in  his  eyes,  and  the  lion  at  his  gate  ?  But  I, 
lying  at  my  window  in  pain,  may  see  none  of  these 
beauties  as  yet,  but  only  a  street,  fairly  paved,  which  is 
dull,  and  houses  with  oiled  paper  and  linen,  in  lieu  of 
glass,  which  is  rude ;  and  the  passers-by,  their  habits  and 
their  gestures,  wherein  they  are  superfluous.  Therefore, 
not  to  miss  my  daily  comfort  of  whispering  to  thee,  I 
will  e'en  turn  mine  eyes  inward,  and  bind  my  sheaves  of 
wisdom  reaped  by  travel.  For  I  love  thee  so,  that  no 
treasure  pleases  me  not  shared  with  thee ;  and  what 
treasure  so  good  and  enduring  as  knowledge  ?  This 
then  have  I,  Sir  Footsore,  learned,  that  each  nation  hath 
its  proper  wisdom,  and  its  proper  folly  ;  and,  methinks, 
could  a  great  king,  or  duke,  tramp  like  me,  and  see  with 
his  own  eyes,  he  might  pick  the  flowers  and  eschew  the 
weeds  of  nations,  and  go  home  and  set  his  own  folk  on 
Wisdom's  hill.  The  Germans  in  the  north  were  churlish, 
but  frank  and  honest ;  in  the  south,  kindly  and  honest 
too.  Their  general  blot  is  drunkenness,  the  which  they 
carry  even  to  mislike  and  contempt  of  sober  men.  They 
say  commonly,  '  Kanstu  niecht  sauffen  und  fressen  so 
kanstu  kienem  hern  wol  dienen.'  In  England  the  vulgar 
sort  drink  as  deep,  but  the  worshipful  hold  excess  in  this 
a  reproach,  and  drink  a  health  or  two  for  courtesy,  not 
gluttony,  and  still  sugar  the  wine.  In  their  cups  the 
Germans  use  little  mirth,  or  discourse,  but  ply  the  busi- 
ness sadly,  crying,  ^  Seyte  frolich  !  '  The  best  of  their 
drunken  sport  is  *  Kurlem,urlehuff,'>  a  way  of  drinking 
with  touching  deftly  of  the  glass  the  beard,  the  table, 
in  due  turn,  intermixed  with  whistlings  and  snappings 
of  the  finger  so  curiously  ordered  as  'tis  a  labor  of  Her- 
cules, but  to  the  beholder  right  pleasant  and  mirthful. 
Their  topers,  by  advice  of  German  leeches,  sleep  with 
pebbles  in  their  mouths.  For,  as  of  a  boiling  pot  the 
lid  must  be  set  ajar,  so  with  these  fleshly  wine-pots,  to 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  91 


vent  the  heat  of  their  inward  parts,  spite  of  which  many 
die  suddenly  from  drink ;  but  'tis  a  matter  of  religion 
to  slur  it,  and  gloze  it,  and  charge  some  innocent  disease 
therewith.  Yet  'tis  more  a  custom  than  very  nature,  for 
their  women  come  among  the  tipplers,  and  do  but  stand 
a  moment,  and,  as  it  were,  kiss  the  wine-cup,  and  are  in- 
deed most  temperate  in  eating  and  drinking,  and,  of  all 
women,  modest  and  virtuous,  and  true  spouses  and 
friends  to  their  mates :  far  before  our  Holland  lassies, 
that,  being  maids,  put  the  question  to  the  men,  and  being 
wived,  do  lord  it  over  them.  Why,  there  is  a  wife  in 
Tergou,  not  far  from  our  door.  One  came  to  the  house 
and  sought  her  man.  Says  she,  '  You'll  not  find  him : 
he  asked  my  leave  to  go  abroad  this  afternoon,  and  I  did 
give  it  him.' " 

Catherine.  'Tis  sooth  !  'tis  sooth  !  'Twas  Beck  Hulse, 
J onah's  wife.    This  comes  of  a  woman  wedding  a  boy. 

"  In  the  south  where  wine  is,  the  gentry  drink  them- 
selves bare,  but  not  in  the  north,  for  with  beer  a  noble 
shall  sooner  burst  his  body  than  melt  his  lands.  They 
are  quarrelsome,  but  'tis  the  liquor,  not  the  mind,  for 
they  are  none  revengeful.  And  when  they  have  made  a 
bad  bargain  drunk,  they  stand  to  it  sober.  They  keep 
their  windows  bright,  and  judge  a  man  by  his  clothes. 
Whatever  fruit  or  grain  or  herb  grows  by  the  roadside, 
gather  and  eat.  The  owner  seeing  you  shall  say,  '  Art 
welcome,  honest  man.'  But  an  ye  pluck  a  wayside  grape, 
your  very  life  is  in  jeopardy.  'Tis  eating  of  that  Heaven 
gave  to  be  drunken.  The  French  are  much  fairer 
spoken,  and  not  nigh  so  true-hearted.  Sweet  words  cost 
them  nought.    They  call  it  'payer  en  blanche.''  " 

Denys.    Les  coquins  !  ha !  ha ! 

"  Natheless,  courtesy  is  in  their  hearts,  ay,  in  their 
very  blood.  They  say  commonly,  'Give  yourself  the 
trouble  of  sitting  down  ; '  and  such  straws  of  speech  show 


92  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


how  blows  the  wind.  Also  at  a  public  show,  if  you 
would  leave  your  seat,  yet  not  lose  it,  tie  but  your 
napkin  round  the  bench,  and  no  French  man  or  woman 
will  sit  here,  but  rather  keep  the  place  for  you." 

Catherine.  Gramercy  !  that  is  manners.  France  for 
me  ! 

Denys  rose  and  placed  his  hand  gracefully  to  his 
breastplate. 

"  Natheless,  they  say  things  in  sport  which  are  not 
courteous,  but  shocking.  '  Le  diable  tfemporte  /  '  '  Allez  au 
diable  !  '  and  so  forth.  But  I  trow  they  mean  not  such 
dreadful  wishes  :  custom  belike.  Moderate  in  drinking, 
and  mix  water  with  their  wine,  and  sing  and  dance  over 
their  cups,  and  are  then  enchanting  company.  They  are 
curious  not  to  drink  in  another  man's  cup.  In  war  the 
English  gain  the  better  of  them  in  the  field;  but  the 
French  are  their  masters  in  attack  and  defence  of  cities. 
Witness  Orleans,  where  they  besieged  their  besiegers, 
and  hashed  them  sore  with  their  double  and  treble  cul- 
verines,  and  many  other  sieges  in  this  our  century. 
More  than  all  nations  they  natter  their  women,  and  de- 
spise them.  No  She  may  be  their  sovereign  ruler.  Also 
they  often  hang  their  female  malefactors,  instead  of 
drowning  them  decently  as  other  nations  use.  The  fur- 
niture in  their  inns  is  walnut,  in  Germany  only  deal. 
French  windows  are  ill.  The  lower  half  is  of  wood,  and 
opens  :  the  upper  half  is  of  glass,  but  fixed,  so  that  the 
servant  cannot  come  at  it  to  clean  it.  The  German  win- 
dows are  all  glass,  and  movable,  and  shine  far  and  near 
like  diamonds.  In  France  many  mean  houses  are  not 
glazed  at  all.  Once  I  saw  a  Frenchman  pass  a  church 
without  unbonneting.  This  I  ne'er  witnessed  in  Hol- 
land, Germany,  or  Italy.  At  many  inns  they  show  the 
traveller  his  sheets  to  give  him  assurance  they  are  clean, 
and  warm  them  at  the  fire  before  him,  —  a  laudable  cus- 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


93 


torn.  They  receive  him  kindly  and  like  a  guest :  they 
mostly  cheat  him,  and  whiles  cut  his  throat.  They 
plead  in  excuse  hard  and  tyrannous  laws.  And  true  it 
is  their  law  thrusteth  its  nose  into  every  platter,  and  its 
finger  into  every  pie.  In  France  worshipful  men  wear 
their  hats  and  their  furs  in-doors,  and  go  abroad  lighter 
clad.  In  Germany  they  don  hat  and  furred  cloak  to  go 
abroad,  but  sit  bareheaded  and  light  clad  round  the 
stove. 

"  The  French  intermix  not  the  men  and  women  folk 
in  assemblies,  as  we  Hollanders  use.  Bound  their 
preachers  the  women  sit  on  their  heels  in  rows,  and  the 
men  stand  behind  them.  Their  harvests  are  rye,  and 
flax,  and  wine.  Three  mules  shall  you  see  to  one  horse, 
and  whole  flocks  of  sheep  as  black  as  coal. 

"In  Germany  the  snails  be  red.  I  lie  not.  The 
French  buy  minstrelsy,  but  breed  jests,  and  make  their 
own  mirth.  The  Germans  foster  their  set  fools  with 
ear-caps,  which  move  them  to  laughter  by  simulating 
madness,  —  a  calamity  that  asks  pity,  not  laughter.  In 
this  particular  I  deem  that  lighter  nation  wiser  than  the 
graver  German.  What  sayest  thou  ?  Alas !  canst  not 
answer  me  now. 

"  In  Germany  the  petty  laws  are  wondrous  wise  and 
just :  those  against  criminals,  bloody ;  in  France  bloodier 
still,  and  executed  a  trifle  more  cruelly  there.  Here  the 
wheel  is  common,  and  the  fiery  stake ;  and  under  this 
king  they  drown  men  by  the  score  in  Paris  river,  Seine 
yclept.  But  the  English  are  as  peremptory  in  hanging 
and  drowning  for  a  light  fault ;  so  travellers  report. 
Finally,  a  true-hearted  Frenchman,  when  ye  chance  on 
one,  is  a  man  as  near  perfect  as  earth  affords ;  and  such 
a  man  is  my  Denys,  spite  of  his  foul  mouth." 

Denys.  My  foul  mouth!  Is  that  so  writ,  Master 
Richart  ? 


94  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

Richart.    Ay,  in  sooth ;  see  else. 
Denys.    (Inspecting  the  letter  gravely.)    I  read  not 
the  letter  so. 
Richart.    How  then  ? 

Denys.  Hnmph !  ahem  !  why,  just  the  contrary.  —  He 
added,  "'Tis  kittle  work  perusing  of  these  black  scratches 
men  are  agreed  to  take  for  words.  And  I  trow  'tis  still 
by  guess  you  clerks  do  go,  worthy  sir.  My  foul  mouth ! 
This  is  the  first  time  e'er  I  heard  on't.   Eh,  mesdames  ?  " 

But  the  females  did  not  seize  the  opportunity  he  gave 
them,  and  burst  into  a  loud  and  general  disclaimer. 
Margaret  blushed  and  said  nothing :  the  other  two  bent 
silently  over  their  work  wi  th  something  very  like  a  sly 
smile.  Denys  inspected  their  countenances  long  and 
carefully  ;  and  the  perusal  was  so  satisfactory  that  he 
turned  with  a  tone  of  injured,  but  patient,  innocence, 
and  bade  Richart  read  on. 

"  The  Italians  are  a  polished  and  subtle  people.  They 
judge  a  man,  not  by  his  habits,  but  his  speech  and  gest- 
ure. Here  Sir  Chough  may  by  no  means  pass  for  falcon 
gentle,  as  did  I  in  Germany,  pranked  in  my  noble  serv- 
ant's feathers.  Wisest  of  all  nations  in  their  singular 
temperance  of  food  and  drink.  Most  foolish  of  all  to 
search  strangers  coming  into  their  borders,  and  stay 
them  from  bringing  much  money  in.  They  should 
rather  invite  it,  and,  like  other  nations,  let  the  traveller 
from  taking  of  it  out.  Also  here  in  Venice  the  dames 
turn  their  black  hair  yellow  by  the  sun  and  art,  to  be 
wiser  than  Him  who  •  made  them.  Ye  enter  no  Italian 
town  without  a  bill  of  health,  though  now  is  no  plague 
in  Europe.  This  peevishness  is  for  extortion's  sake. 
The  innkeepers  cringe  and  fawn,  and  cheat,  and,  iD 
country  places,  murder  you.  Yet  will  they  give  you 
clean  sheets  by  paying  therefor.  Delicate  in  eating,  and 
abhor  from  putting  their  hand  in  the  plate  :  sooner  they 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  95 


will  apply  a  crust  or  what  not.  They  do  even  tell  of 
a  cardinal  at  Kome  which  armeth  his  guest's  left  hand 
with  a  little  bifurcal  dagger  to  hold  the  meat,  while  his 
knife  cutteth  it.  But  methinks  this,  too,  is  to  be  wiser 
than  Him  who  made  the  hand  so  supple  and  prehensile." 

Eli.    I  am  of  your  mind,  my  lad. 

"  They  are  sore  troubled  with  the  itch ;  and  ointment 
for  it,  unguento  per  la  rogna,  is  cried  at  every  corner  of 
Venice.  From  this  my  window  I  saw  an  urchin  sell  it 
to  three  several  dames  in  silken  trains,  and  to  two  vel- 
vet knights." 

Catherine.  Italy,  my  lass,  I  rede  ye  wash  your  body 
i'  the  tub  o'  Sundays ;  and  then  ye  can  put  your  hand  i' 
the  plate  o'  Thursday  withouten  offence. 

"  Their  bread  is  lovely  white.  Their  meats  they  spoil 
with  sprinkling  cheese  over  them.  0  perversity  !  Their 
salt  is  black :  without  a  lie.  In  commerce  these  Vene- 
tians are  masters  of  the  earth  and  sea,  and  govern  their 
territories  wisely.  Only  one  flaw  I  find;  the  same  I 
once  heard  a  learned  friar  cast  up  against  Plato  his  re- 
public ;  to  wit,  that  here  women  are  encouraged  to  venal 
frailty,  and  do  pay  a  tax  to  the  state,  which,  not  content 
with  silk  and  spice,  and  other  rich  and  honest  freights 
good  store,  must  trade  in  sin.  Twenty  thousand  of  these 
Jezebels  there  be  in  Venice  and  Candia,  and  about,  pam- 
pered and  honored  for  bringing  strangers  to  the  city,  and 
many  live  in  princely  palaces  of  their  own.  But  herein 
methinks  the  politic  signors  of  Venice  forget  what  King 
David  saith,  '  Except  the  Lord  keep  the  citie,  the  watch- 
man waketh  but  in  vain.'  Also,  in  religion,  they  hang 
their  cloth  according  to  the  wind,  siding  now  with  the 
Pope,  now  with  the  Turk,  but  ay  with  the  god  of  trad- 
ers, Mammon  hight.  Shall  flower  so  cankered  bloom  to 
the  world's  end?  But  since  I  speak  of  flowers,  this 
none  may  deny  them,  that  they  are  most  cunning  in 


96  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

making  roses  and  gilliflowers  to  blow  unseasonably.  In 
summer  they  nip  certain  of  the  budding  roses  and  water 
them  not.  Then  in  winter  they  dig  round  these  dis- 
couraged plants,  and  put  in  cloves,  and  so  with  great  art 
rear  sweet-scented  roses,  and  bring  them  to  market  in 
January.  And  did  first  learn  this  art  of  a  cow.  Buds 
she  grazed  in  summer,  and  they  sprouted  at  Yule. 
Women  have  sat  in  the  doctors'  chairs  at  their  colleges, 
But  she  that  sat  in  St.  Peter's  was  a  German.  Italy  too, 
for  artful  fountains  and  figures  that  move  by  water  and 
enact  life.  And  next  for  fountains  is  Augsburg,  where 
they  harness  the  foul  knave  Smoke  to  good  Sir  Spit,  and 
he  turneth  stout  Master  Roast.  But  lest  any  one  place 
should  vaunt,  two  towns  there  be  in  Europe,  which, 
scorning  giddy  fountains,  bring  water  tame  in  pipes  to 
every  burgher's  door,  and  he  filleth  his  vessels  with  but 
turning  of  a  cock.  One  is  London,  so  watered  this  many 
a  year  by  pipes  of  a  league  from  Paddington,  a  neighbor- 
ing city;  and  the  other  is  the  fair  town  of  Lubeck. 
Also  the  fierce  English  are  reported  to  me  wise  in  that 
they  will  not  share  their  land  and  flocks  with  wolves, 
but  have  fairly  driven  those  marauders  into  their  mount- 
ains. But  neither  in  France,  nor  Germany,  nor  Italy, 
is  a  wayfarer's  life  safe  from  the  vagabones  after  sun- 
down. I  can  hear  of  no  glazed  house  in  all  Venice,  but 
only  oiled  linen  and  paper,  and,  behind  these  barbarian 
eyelets,  a  wooden  jalosy.  Their  name  for  a  cowardly 
assassin  is  '  a  brave  man,'  and  for  an  harlot,  '  a  courteous 
person,'  which  is  as  much  as  to  say  that  a  woman's  worst 
vice,  and  a  man's  worst  vice,  are  virtues.  But  I  pray 
God  for  little  Holland  that  there  an  assassin  may  be 
yclept  an  assassin,  and  an  harlot  an  harlot  till  doomsday, 
and  then  gloze  foul  faults  with  silken  names  who  can  ! " 

Mi.  (With  a  sigh.)  He  should  have  been  a  priest, 
saving  your  presence,  my  poor  lass. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


97 


"  Go  to,  peevish  writer ;  art  tied  smarting  by  the  leg, 
and  may  not  see  the  beauties  of  Venice.  So  thy  pen 
kicketh  all  around  like  a  wicked  mule. 

"January  16.  Sweetheart,  I  must  be  brief  and  tell 
thee  but  a  part  of  that  I  have  seen,  for  this  day  my 
journal  ends.  To-night  it  sails  for  thee,  and  I,  unhappy, 
not  with  it,  but  to-morrow,  in  another  ship,  to  Borne. 

"  Dear  Margaret,  I  took  a  hand  litter,  and  was  carried 
to  St.  Mark  his  church.  Outside  it,  towards  the  market- 
place, is  a  noble  gallery,  and  above  it  four  famous  horses, 
cut  in  brass  by  ancient  Romans,  and  seem  all  moving, 
and  at  the  very  next  step  must  needs  leap  down  on  the 
beholder.  About  the  church  are  six  hundred  pillars  of 
marble,  porphyry,  and  ophites.  Inside  is  a  treasure 
greater  than  either  at  St.  Denys,  or  Loretto,  or  Toledo. 
Here  a  jewelled  pitcher  given  the  seigniory  by  a  Persian 
king,  also  the  ducal  cap  blazing  with  jewels,  and  on  its 
crown  a  diamond  and  a  chrysolite,  each  as  big  as  an 
almond :  two  golden  crowns  and  twelve  golden  stomachers 
studded  with  jewels,  from  Constantinople ;  item,  a  mon- 
strous sapphire  ;  item,  a  great  diamond  given  by  a  French 
king  ;  item,  a  prodigious  carbuncle  ;  item,  three  unicorns' 
horns.  But  what  are  these  compared  with  the  sacred 
relics  ? 

"  Dear  Margaret,  I  stood  and  saw  the  brazen  chest  that 
holds  the  body  of  St.  Mark  the  Evangelist.  I  saw  with 
these  eyes,  and  handled,  his  ring  and  his  Gospel  written 
with  his  own  hand,  and  all  my  travels  seemed  light :  for 
who  am  I  that  I  should  see  such  things  ?  Dear  Margaret, 
his  sacred  body  was  first  brought  from  Alexandria  by 
merchants  in  810,  and  then  not  prized  as  now ;  for  be- 
tween 829,  when  this  church  was  builded,  and  1094,  the 
very  place  where  it  lay  was  forgotten.  Then  holy  priests 
fasted  and  prayed  many  days  seeking  for  light,  and  lo, 
the  Evangelist's  body  brake  at  midnight  through  the 


98  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


marble  and  stood  before  theni.  They  fell  to  the  earth : 
but  in  the  morning  found  the  crevice  the  sacred  body 
had  burst  through,  and  peering  through  it  saw  him 
lie.  Then  they  took  and  laid  him  in  his  chest  beneath 
the  altar,  and  carefully  put  back  the  stone  with  its 
miraculous  crevice,  which  crevice  I  saw,  and  shall  gape 
for  a  monument  while  the  world  lasts.  After  that  they 
showed  me  the  Virgin's  chair,  it  is  of  stone;  also  her 
picture,  painted  by  St.  Luke,  very  dark,  and  the  features 
now  scarce  visible.  This  picture,  in  time  of  drought,  they 
carry  in  procession,  and  brings  the  rain.  I  wish  I  had 
not  seen  it.  Item,  two  pieces  of  marble  spotted  with 
John  the  Baptist's  blood  ;  item,  a  piece  of  the  true  cross 
and  of  the  pillar  to  which  Christ  was  tied;  item,  the 
rock  struck  by  Moses,  and  wet  to  this  hour ;  also  a  stone 
Christ  sat  on,  preaching  at  Tyre ;  but  some  say  it  is  the 
one  the  Patriarch  Jacob  laid  his  head  on,  and  I  hold 
with  them,  by  reason  our  Lord  never  preached  at  Tyre. 
Going  hence  they  showed  me  the  state  nursery  for  the 
children  of  those  aphrodisian  dames,  their  favorites. 
Here  in  the  outer  wall  was  a  broad  niche,  and  if  they 
bring  them  so  little  as  they  can  squeeze  them  through  it 
alive,  the  bairn  falls  into  a  net  inside,  and  the  state  takes 
charge  of  it,  but  if  too  big,  their  mothers  must  even  take 
them  home  again,  with  whom  abiding  'tis  like  to  be  mail 
corvi  mali  ovum.  Coming  out  of  the  church  we  met  them 
carrying  in  a  corpse,  with  the  feet  and  face  bare.  This  I 
then  first  learned  is  Venetian  custom,  and  sure  no  other 
town  will  ever  rob  them  of  it,  nor  of  this  that  follows. 
On  a  great  porphyry  slab  in  the  piazza  were  three  ghastly 
heads  rotting  and  tainting  the  air,  and  in  their  hot  sum- 
mers like  to  take  vengeance  with  breeding  of  a  plague. 
These  were  traitors  to  the  state,  and  a  heavy  price  —  two 
thousand  ducats  —  being  put  on  each  head,  their  friends 
had  slain  them  and  brought  all  three  to  the  slab,  and  so 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  99 


sold  blood  of  others  and  their  own  faith.  No  state  buys 
heads  so  many  nor  pays  half  so  high  a  price  for  that  sorry 
merchandise.  But  what  I  most  admired  was  to  see  over 
against  the  duke's  palace  a  fair  gallows  in  alabaster, 
reared  express  to  hang  him,  and  no  other,  for  the  least 
treason  to  the  state ;  and  there  it  stands  in  his  eye  whis- 
pering him  memento  mori.  I  pondered,  and  owned  these 
signors  my  masters,  who  will  let  no  man,  not  even  their 
sovereign,  be  above  the  common  weal.  Hard  by,  on  a 
wall,  the  workmen  were  just  finishing,  by  order  of  the 
seigniory,  the  stone  effigy  of  a  tragical  and  enormous 
act  enacted  last  year,  yet  on  the  wall  looks  innocent. 
Here  two  gentlefolks  whisper  together,  and  there  other 
twain,  their  swords  by  their  side.  Four  brethren  were 
they,  which  did  on  either  side  conspire  to  poison  the 
other  two,  and  so  halve  their  land  in  lieu  of  quartering 
it;  and  at  a  mutual  banquet  these  twain  drugged  the 
wine,  and  those  twain  envenomed  a  marchpane,  to  such 
good  purpose,  that  the  same  afternoon  lay  four  '  brave 
men '  around  one  table  grovelling  in  mortal  agony,  and 
cursing  of  one  another  and  themselves,  and  so  concluded 
miserably,  and  the  land,  for  which  they  had  lost  their 
immortal  souls,  went  into  another  family.  And  why  not  ? 
it  could  not  go  into  a  worse. 

"  But  0  sovereign  wisdom  of  by-words  !  how  true  they 
put  the  ringer  on  each  nation's,  or  particular's,  fault. 

'  Quand  Italie  sera  sans  poison 
Et  France  sans  trahison 
Et  l'Angleterre  sans  guerre, 
Lors  sera  le  monde  sans  terra.' " 

Eichart  explained  this  to  Catherine,  then  proceeded: 
"  And  after  this  they  took  me  to  the  quay,  and  presently 
I  espied  among  the  masts  one  garlanded  with  amaranth 
flowers.    <  Take  me  thither/  said  I,  and  I  let  my  guide 


100  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


know  the  custom  of  our  Dutch  skippers  to  hoist  flowers 
to  the  mast-head  when  they  are  courting  a  maid.  Oft 
had  I  scoffed  at  this,  saying,  '  So  then  his  wooing  is  the 
earth's  concern.'  But  now,  so  far  from  the  Rotter,  that 
bunch  at  a  mast-head  made  my  heart  leap  with  assurance 
of  a  countryman.  They  carried  me,  and  oh,  Margaret ! 
on  the  stern  of  that  Dutch  hoy,  was  writ  in  muckle 
letters : 

RlCHART  ELIASSOEN,  AMSTERDAM. 

( Put  me  down,'  I  said :  £  for  our  Lady's  sake  put  me 
down.'  I  sat  on  the  bank  and  looked,  scarce  believing 
my  eyes,  and  looked,  and  presently  fell  to  crying,  till  I 
could  see  the  words  no  more.  All  me,  how  they  went  to 
my  heart,  those  bare  letters  in  a  foreign  land.  Dear 
Richart !  good  kind  brother  Richart !  often  have  I  sat  on 
his  knee  and  rid  on  his  back.  Kisses  many  has  he  given 
me,  unkind  word  from  him  had  I  never.  And  there  was 
his  name  on  his  own  ship,  and  his  face  and  all  his  grave 
but  good  and  gentle  ways  came  back  to  me,  and  I  sobbed 
vehemently,  and  cried  aloud,  *  Why,  why  is  not  brother 
Richart  here,  and  not  his  name  only  ? '  I  spake  in 
Dutch,  for  my  heart  was  too  full  to  hold  their  foreign 
tongues,  and  "  — 

Mi.  Well,  Richart,  go  on,  lad,  prithee  go  on.  Is  this 
a  place  to  halt  at  ? 

Richart.  Father,  with  my  duty  to  you,  it  is  easy  to 
say  Go  on,  but  think  ye  I  am  not  flesh  and  blood  ?  The 
poor  boy's  —  simple  grief  and  brotherly  love  coming  —  so 
sudden  —  on  me,  they  go  through  my  heart  and  —  I 
cannot  go  on :  sink  me  if  I  can  even  see  the  words,  'tis 
writ  so  fine. 

Denys.  Courage,  good  Master  Richart !  Take  your 
time.  Here  are  more  eyne  wet  than  yours.  Ah,  little 
comrade !  would  God  thou  wert  here,  and  I  at  Venice  for 
thee. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  101 


Richart.  Poor  little  curly-headed  lad,  what  had  he 
done  thai  lye  have  driven  him  so  far  ? 

"That  is  what  I  fain  would  know,"  said  Catherine, 
dryly,  then  fell  to  weeping  and  rocking  herself,  with  her 
apron  over  her  head. 

"Kind  dame,  good  friends,"  said  Margaret,  trembling, 
"  let  me  tell  you  how  the  letter  ends.  The  skipper  hear- 
ing our  Gerard  speak  his  grief  in  Dutch,  accosted  him, 
and  spake  comfortably  to  him ;  and  after  a  while  our 
Gerard  found  breath  to  say  he  was  worthy  Master 
Richart's  brother.  Thereat  was  the  good  skipper  all 
agog  to  serve  him." 

Richart.  So !  so  !  skipper  !  Master  Richart  aforesaid 
will  be  at  thy  wedding  and  bring's  purse  to  boot. 

Margaret.  Sir,  he  told  Gerard  of  his  consort  that 
was  to  sail  that  very  night  for  Rotterdam ;  and  dear 
Gerard  had  to  go  home  and  finish  his  letter  and  bring 
it  to  the  ship.  And  the  rest,  it  is  but  his  poor  dear 
words  of  love  to  me,  the  which,  an't  please  you,  I  think 
shame  to  hear  them  read  aloud,  and  ends  with  the  lines 
I  sent  to  Mistress  Kate,  and  they  would  sound  so  harsh 
now  and  ungrateful. 

The  pleading  tone,  as  much  as  the  words,  prevailed, 
and  Richart  said  he  would  read  no  more  aloud,  but  run 
his  eye  over  it  for  his  own  brotherly  satisfaction.  She 
blushed  and  looked  uneasy,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  Eli,"  said  Catherine,  still  sobbing  a  little,  "  tell  me, 
for  our  Lady's  sake,  how  our  poor  boy  is  to  live  at  that 
nasty  Rome.  He  is  gone  there  to  write,  but  here  be  his 
own  words  to  prove  writing  avails  nought ;  a  had  died 
o'  hunger  by  the  way  but  for  paint-brush  and  psaltery. 
Well-a-day ! " 

"  Well,"  said  Eli,  "  he  has  got  brush  and  music  still. 
Besides,  so  many  men  so  many  minds.  Writing,  thof  it 
had  no  sale  in  other  parts,  may  be  merchandise  at  Rome." 


102  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  Father,"  said  little  Kate,  "  have  I  your  good  leave  to 
put  in  my  word  'twixt  mother  and  you  ?  " 
"And  welcome,  little  heart." 

"  Then,  seems  to  me,  painting  and  music,  close  at  hand, 
be  stronger  than  writing,  but  being  distant,  nought  to 
compare  ;  for  see  what  glamour  written  paper  hath  done 
here  but  now.  Our  Gerard,  writing  at  Venice,  hath 
verily  put  his  hand  into  this  room  at  Eotterdam,  and 
turned  all  our  hearts.  Ay,  dear  dear  Gerard,  methinks 
thy  spirit  hath  rid  hither  on  these  thy  paper  wings ;  and 
oh !  dear  father,  why  not  do  as  we  should  do  were  he 
here  in  the  body  ?  " 

"  Kate,"  said  Eli,  "  fear  not ;  Eichart  and  I  will  give 
him  glamour  for  glamour.  We  will  write  him  a  letter, 
and  send  it  to  Eome  by  a  sure  hand  with  money,  and  bid 
him  home  on  the  instant." 

Cornells  and  Sybrant  exchanged  a  gloomy  look. 

"  Ah,  good  father  !    And  meantime  ?  " 

"  Well,  meantime  ?  " 

"  Dear  father,  dear  mother,  what  can  we  do  to  pleasure 
the  absent,  but  be  kind  to  his  poor  lass ;  and  her  own 
trouble  afore  her  ?  " 

"'Tis  well!"  said  Eli;  "but  I  am  older  than  thou." 
Then  he  turned  gravely  to  Margaret :  "  Wilt  answer  me 
a  question,  my  pretty  mistress  ?  " 

"  If  I  may,  sir,"  faltered  Margaret. 

"  What  are  these  marriage  lines  Gerard  speaks  of  in 
the  letter  ?  " 

"  Our  marriage  lines,  sir.    His  and  mine.    Know  you 
not  that  we  are  betrothed  ?  " 
"  Before  witnesses  ?  " 

"Ay,  sure.   My  poor  father  and  Martin  Wittenhaagen." 
"  This  is  the  first  I  ever  heard  of  it.    How  came  they 
in  his  hands  ?    They  should  be  in  yours." 

"  Alas,  sir,  the  more  is  my  grief ;  but  I  ne'er  doubted 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  103 


hini  :  and  he  said  it  was  a  comfort  to  him  to  have  them 
in  his  bosom." 

"  Y'  are  a  very  foolish  lass." 

"  Indeed  I  was,  sir.    But  trouble  teaches  the  simple." 

"'Tis  a  good  answer.  Well,  foolish  or  no,  y'are 
honest.  I  had  shown  ye  more  respect  at  first,  but  I 
thought  y'had  been  his  leman,  and  that  is  the  truth." 

"  God  forbid,  sir  !  Denys,  methinks  'tis  time  for  us  to 
go.    Give  me  my  letter,  sir ! " 

"  Bide  ye !  bide  ye  !  be  not  so  hot  for  a  word !  Nathe- 
less,  wife,  methinks  her  red  cheek  becomes  her." 

"  Better  than  it  did  you  to  give  it  her,  my  man." 

"  Softly,  wife,  softly.  I  am  not  counted  an  unjust 
man  thof  I  be  somewhat  slow." 

Here  Eichart  broke  in.  "  Why,  mistress,  did  ye  shed 
your  blood  for  our  Gerard  ?  " 

"  Not  I,  sir.    But  maybe  I  would." 

"  Nay,  nay.   But  he  says  you  did.    Speak  sooth,  now ! " 

"  Alas  !  I  know  not  what  ye  mean.  I  rede  ye  believe 
not  all  that  my  poor  lad  says  of  me.  Love  makes  him 
blind." 

"Traitress!"  cried  Denys.  "Let  her  not  throw  dust 
in  thine  eyes,  Master  Richart.  Old  Martin  tells  me  —  ye 
need  not  make  signals  to  me,  she-comrade ;  I  am  as  blind 
as  love.  Martin  tells  me  she  cut  her  arm,  and  let  her 
blood  flow,  and  smeared  her  heels  when  Gerard  was  hunted 
by  the  bloodhounds,  to  turn  the  scent  from  her  lad." 

"  Well,  and  if  I  did,  'twas  my  own,  and  spilled  for  the 
good  of  my  own,"  said  Margaret,  defiantly.  But,  Cath- 
erine suddenly  clasping  her,  she  began  to  cry  at  having 
found  a  bosom  to  cry  on,  of  one  who  would  have  also 
shed  her  blood  for  Gerard  in  danger. 

Eli  rose  from  his  chair.  "  Wife,"  said  he,  solemnly, 
"  you  will  set  another  chair  at  our  table  for  every  meal : 
also  another  plate  and  knife.    They  will  be  for  Margaret 


104  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


and  Peter.  She  will  come  when  she  likes,  and  stay 
away  when  she  pleases.  None  may  take  her  place  at  my 
left  hand.  Such  as  can  welcome  her  are  welcome  to  me. 
Such  as  cannot,  I  force  them  not  to  bide  with  me.  The 
world  is  wide  and  free.  Within  my  walls  I  am  master, 
and  my  son's  betrothed  is  welcome.'' 

Catherine  bustled  out  to  prepare  supper.  Eli  and 
Eichart  sat  down  and  concocted  a  letter  to  bring  Gerard 
home.  Eichart  promised  it  should  go  by  sea  to  Eome 
that  very  week.  Sybrandt  and  Cornells  exchanged  a 
gloomy  wink,  and  stole  out.  Margaret,  seeing  Giles 
deep  in  meditation,  for  the  dwarf's  intelligence  had  taken 
giant's  strides,  asked  him  to  bring  her  the  letter.  "  You 
have  heard  but  half,  good  Master  Giles,"  said  she.  "  Shall 
I  read  you  the  rest  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  much  beholden  to  you,"  shouted  the  courtier. 

She  gave  him  her  stool :  curiosity  bowed  his  pride  to 
sit  on  it :  and  Margaret  murmured  the  first  part  of  the 
letter  into  his  ear  very  low,  not  to  disturb  Eli  and 
Eichart.  And,  to  do  this,  she  leaned  forward  and  put  her 
lovely  face  cheek  by  jowl  with  Giles's  hideous  one :  a 
strange  contrast,  and  worth  a  painter's  while  to  try  and 
represent.  And  in  this  attitude  Catherine  found  her, 
and  all  the  mother  warmed  towards  her,  and  she  ex- 
changed an  eloquent  glance  with  little  Kate. 

The  latter  smiled,  and  sewed,  with  drooping  lashes. 

"  Get  him  home  on  the  instant,"  roared  Giles.  "  I'll 
make  a  man  of  him.    I  can  do  aught  with  the  duke." 

"  Hear  the  boy  !  "  said  Catherine,  half  comically,  half 
proudly. 

"  We  hear  him,"  said  Eichart ;  "  a  mostly  makes  him- 
self heard  when  a  do  speak." 

Sybrandt.    Which  will  get  to  him  first  ? 
Cornells  (gloomily).    Who  can  tell  ? 


A  STRANGE  CONTRAST,  AND  WORTH  A  PAINTER'S  WHILE. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  105 


CHAPTER  VI. 

About  two  months  before  this  scene  in  Eli's  home,  the 
natives  of  a  little  maritime  place  between  Naples  and 
Rome  might  be  seen  nocking  to  the  sea  beach,  with  eyes 
cast  seaward  at  a  ship,  that  labored  against  a  stiff  gale 
blowing  dead  on  the  shore. 

At  times  she  seemed  likely  to  weather  the  danger,  and 
then  the  spectators  congratulated  her  aloud:  at  others 
the  wind  and  sea  drove  her  visibly  nearer,  and  the  lookers- 
on  were  not  without  a  secret  satisfaction  they  would  not 
have  owned  even  to  themselves. 

Non  quia  vexari  quemquam  est  jucunda  voluptas 
Sed  quibus  ipse  malis  careas  quia  cernere  suave  est. 

And  the  poor  ship,  though  not  scientifically  built  for  sail- 
ing, was  admirably  constructed  for  going  ashore,  with 
her  extravagant  poop  that  caught  the  wind,  and  her 
lines  like  a  cocked  hat  reversed.  To  those  on  the  beach 
that  battered  laboring  frame  of  wood  seemed  alive,  and 
struggling  against  death  with  a  panting  heart.  But 
could  they  have  been  transferred  to  her  deck  they  would 
have  seen  she  had  not  one  beating  heart  but  many,  and 
not  one  nature  but  a  score  were  coming  out  clear  in  that 
fearful  hour. 

The  mariners  stumbled  wildly  about  the  deck,  hand- 
ling the  ropes  as  each  thought  fit,  and  cursing  and  pray- 
ing alternately. 

The  passengers  were  huddled  together  round  the  mast, 
some  sitting,  some  kneeling,  some  lying  prostrate,  and 
grasping  the  bulwarks  as  the  vessel  rolled  and  pitched  iu 


106  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


the  mighty  waves.  One  comely  young  man,  whose  ashy 
cheek,  but  compressed  lips,  showed  how  hard  terror  was 
battling  in  him  with  self-respect,  stood  a  little  apart, 
holding  tight  by  a  shroud,  and  wincing  at  each  sea.  It 
was  the  ill-fated  Gerard.  Meantime  prayers  and  vows 
rose  from  the  trembling  throng  amidships,  and,  to  hear 
them,  it  seemed  there  were  almost  as  many  gods  about 
as  men  and  women.  The  sailors,  indeed,  relied  on  a 
single  goddess.  They  varied  her  titles  only,  calling  on 
her  as  "  Queen  of  Heaven,"  "  Star  of  the  Sea,"  "  Mistress 
of  the  World,"  "Haven  of  Safety."  But  among  the 
landsmen  polytheism  raged.  Even  those  who  by  some 
strange  chance  hit  on  the  same  divinity  did  not  hit  on 
the  same  edition  of  that  divinity.  An  English  merchant 
vowed  a  heap  of  gold  to  our  Lady  of  Walsingham.  But 
a  Genoese  merchant  vowed  a  silver  collar  of  four  pounds 
to  our  Lady  of  Loretto ;  and  a  Tuscan  noble  promised  ten 
pounds  of  wax  lights  to  our  Lady  of  Bavenna ;  and  with 
a  similar  rage  for  diversity  they  pledged  themselves,  not 
on  the  true  Cross,  but  on  the  true  Cross  in  this,  that,  or 
the  other,  modern  city. 

Suddenly  a  more  powerful  gust  than  usual  catching  the 
sail  at  a  disadvantage,  the  rotten  shrouds  gave  way,  and 
the  sail  was  torn  out  with  a  loud  crack  and  went  down 
the  wind  smaller  and  smaller,  blacker  and  blacker,  and 
fluttered  into  the  sea,  half  a  mile  off,  like  a  sheet  of 
paper,  and,  ere  the  helmsman  could  put  the  ship's  head 
before  the  wind,  a  wave  caught  her  on  the  quarter  and 
drenched  the  poor  wretches  to  the  bone,  and  gave  them  a 
foretaste  of  chill  death.  Then  one  vowed  aloud  to  turn 
Carthusian  monk,  if  St.  Thomas  would  save  him.  Another 
would  go  a  pilgrim  to  Compostella,  bareheaded,  bare- 
footed, with  nothing  but  a  coat  of  mail  on  his  naked 
skin,  if  St.  James  would  save  him.  Others  invoked 
Thomas,  Dominic,  Denys,  and,  above  all,  Catherine  of 
Sienna. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  107 


Two  petty  Neapolitan  traders  stood  shivering. 

One  shouted  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  "I  vow  to  St. 
Christopher  at  Paris  a  waxen  image  of  his  own  weight, 
if  I  win  safe  to  land." 

On  this  the  other  nudged  him,  and  said,  "Brother, 
brother,  take  heed  what  you  vow.  Why,  if  you  sell  all 
you  have  in  the  world  by  public  auction,  'twill  not  buy 
his  weight  in  wax." 

"Hold  your  tongue,  you  fool,"  said  the  vociferator. 
Then  in  a  whisper : 

"  Think  ye  I  am  in  earnest  ?  Let  me  but  win  safe  to 
land,  I'll  not  give  him  a  rush  dip." 

Others  lay  flat  and  prayed  to  the  sea.  "  0  most  merci- 
ful sea !  0  sea  most  generous  !  0  bountiful  sea !  0 
beautiful  sea!  be  gentle,  be  kind,  preserve  us  in  this 
hour  of  peril." 

And  others  wailed  and  moaned  in  mere  animal  terror 
each  time  the  ill-fated  ship  rolled  or  pitched  more 
terribly  than  usual ;  and  she  was  now  a  mere  plaything 
in  the  arms  of  the  tremendous  waves. 

A  Eoman  woman  of  the  humbler  class  sat  with  her 
child  at  her  half-bared  breast,  silent  amid  that  wailing 
throng :  her  cheek  ashy  pale ;  her  eyes  calm ;  and  her 
lips  moved  at  times  in  silent  prayer,  but  she  neither 
wept,  nor  lamented,  nor  bargained  with  the  gods.  When- 
ever the  ship  seemed  really  gone  under  their  feet,  and 
bearded  men  squeaked,  she  kissed  her  child ;  but  that  was 
all.  And  so  she  sat  patient,  and  suckled  him  in  death's 
jaws;  for  why  should  he  lose  any  joy  she  could  give 
him ;  moribundo  ?  Ay,  there,  do  I  believe,  sat  antiquity 
among  those  medisevals.  Sixteen  hundred  years  had  not 
tainted  the  old  Eoman  blood  in  her  veins;  and  the 
instinct  of  a  race  she  had  perhaps  scarce  heard  of 
taught  her  to  die  with  decent  dignity. 

A  gigantic  friar  stood  on  the  poop  with  feet  apart. 


108  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


like  the  Colossus  of  Khodes,  not  so  nmeh  defying,  as 
ignoring,  the  peril  that  surrounded  him.  He  recited 
verses  from  the  Canticles  with  a  loud  unwavering  voice ; 
and  invited  the  passengers  to  confess  to  him.  Some  did 
so  on  their  knees,  and  he  heard  them,  and  laid  his  hands 
on  them,  and  absolved  them  as  if  he  had  been  in  a  snug 
sacristy,  instead  of  a  perishing  ship.  Gerard  got  nearer 
and  nearer  to  him,  by  the  instinct  that  takes  the  waver- 
ing to  the  side  of  the  impregnable.  And,  in  truth,  the 
courage  of  heroes  facing  fleshly  odds  might  have  paled 
by  the  side  of  that  gigantic  friar,  and  his  still  more 
gigantic  composure.  Thus,  even  here,  two  were  found 
who  maintained  the  dignity  of  our  race  :  a  woman,  tender, 
yet  heroic,  and  a  monk  steeled  by  religion  against  mortal 
fears. 

And  now,  the  sail  being  gone,  the  sailors  cut  down  the 
useless  mast  a  foot  above  the  board,  and  it  fell  with  its 
remaining  hamper  over  the  ship's  side.  This  seemed  to 
relieve  her  a  little. 

But  now  the  hull,  no  longer  impelled  by  canvas,  could 
not  keep  ahead  of  the  sea.  It  struck  her  again  and  again 
on  the  poop,  and  the  tremendous  blows  seemed  given  by 
a  rocky  mountain,  not  by  a  liquid. 

The  captain  left  the  helm  and  came  amidships  pale  as 
death.  "  Lighten  her,"  he  cried.  "  Fling  all  overboard, 
or  we  shall  founder  ere  we  strike,  and  lose  the  one  little 
chance  we  have  of  life."  While  the  sailors  were  execut- 
ing this  order,  the  captain,  pale  himself,  and  surrounded 
by  pale  faces  that  demanded  to  know  their  fate,  was 
talking  as  unlike  an  English  skipper  in  like  peril  as  can 
well  be  imagined.  u Friends,"  said  he,  "last  night  when 
all  was  fair,  too  fair,  alas  !  there  came  a  globe  of  fire 
close  to  the  ship.  When  a  pair  of  them  come  it  is  good 
luck,  and  nought  can  drown  her  that  voyage.  We  mari- 
ners call  these  fiery  globes  Castor  and  Pollux.    But  if 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  109 


Castor  come  without  Pollux,  or  Pollux  without  Castor, 
she  is  doomed.  Therefore,  like  good  Christians,  prepare 
to  die." 

These  words  were  received  with  a  loud  wail. 

To  a  trembling  inquiry  how  long  they  had  to  prepare, 
the  captain  replied,  "  She  may,  or  may  not,  last  half  an 
hour ;  over  that,  impossible ;  she  leaks  like  a  sieve ; 
bustle,  men,  lighten  her." 

The  poor  passengers  seized  on  everything  that  was  on 
deck  and  flung  it  overboard.  Presently  they  laid  hold  of 
a  heavy  sack  ;  an  old  man  was  lying  on  it,  sea-sick. 
They  lugged  it  from  under  him.  It  rattled.  Two  of 
them  drew  it  to  the  side ;  up  started  the  owner,  and, 
with  an  unearthly  shriek,  pounced  on  it.  "  Holy  Moses  ! 
what  would  you  do  ?  'Tis  my  all ;  'tis  the  whole  fruits 
of  my  journey ;  silver  candlesticks,  silver  plates,  brooches, 
hanaps  "  — 

"  Let  go,  thou  hoary  villain,"  cried  the  others  ;  "  shall 
all  our  lives  be  lost  for  thy  ill-gotten  gear  ?  "  "  Fling 
him  in  with  it,"  cried  one ;  "  'tis  this  Ebrew  we  Chris- 
tian men  are  drowned  for."  Numbers  soon  wrenched  it 
from  him,  and  heaved  it  over  the  side.  It  splashed  into 
the  waves.  Then  its  owner  uttered  one  cry  of  anguish, 
and  stood  glaring,  his  white  hair  streaming  in  the  wind, 
and  was  going  to  leap  after  it,  and  would,  had  it  floated. 
But  it  sank,  and  was  gone  forever ;  and  he  staggered  to 
and  fro,  tearing  his  hair,  and  cursed  them  and  the  ship, 
and  the  sea,  and  all  the  powers  of  heaven  and  hell 
alike. 

And  now  the  captain  cried  out :  "  See,  there  is  a  church 
in  sight.  Steer  for  that  church,  mate,  and  you,  friends, 
pray  to  the  saint,  whoe'er  he  be." 

So  they  steered  for  the  church  and  prayed  to  the 
unknown  god  it  was  named  after.  A  tremendous  sea 
pooped  them,  broke  the  rudder,  and  jammed  it  immova- 
ble, and  flooded  the  deck. 


110  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


Then  wild  with  superstitious  terror  some  of  them 
came  round  Gerard.  "Here  is  the  cause  of  all,"  they 
cried.  "  He  has  never  invoked  a  single  saint.  He  is  a 
heathen ;  here  is  a  pagan  aboard." 

"Alas,  good  friends,  say  not  so,"  said  Gerard,  his 
teeth  chattering  with  cold  and  fear.  "  Eather  call  these 
heathens,  that  lie  a-praying  to  the  sea.  Friends,  I  do 
honor  the  saints,  —  but  I  dare  not  pray  to  them  now,  — 
there  is  no  time  —  (oh !)  what  avail  me  Dominic,  and 
Thomas,  and  Catherine  ?  Nearer  God's  throne  than  these 
St.  Peter  sitteth ;  and,  if  I  pray  to  him,  it's  odd,  but  I 
shall  be  drowned  ere  he  has  time  to  plead  my  cause  with 
God.  Oh!  oh!  oh!  I  must  need  go  straight  to  Him 
that  made  the  sea,  and  the  saints,  and  me.  Our  Father, 
which  art  in  heaven,  save  these  poor  souls  and  me  that 
cry  for  the  bare  life  !  Oh,  sweet  Jesus,  pitiful  Jesus, 
that  didst  walk  Genezaret  when  Peter  sank,  and  wept  for 
Lazarus  dead  when  the  apostles'  eyes  were  dry,  oh,  save 
poor  Gerard  —  for  dear  Margaret's  sake ! " 

At  this  moment  the  sailors  were  seen  preparing  to 
desert  the  sinking  ship  in  the  little  boat,  which  even  at 
that  epoch  every  ship  carried ;  then  there  was  a  rush  of 
egotists ;  and  thirty  souls  crowded  into  it.  Remained 
behind  three  who  were  bewildered,  and  two  who  were 
paralyzed,  with  terror.  The  paralyzed  sat  like  heaps  of 
wet  rags,  the  bewildered  ones  ran  to  and  fro,  and  saw  the 
thirty  egotists  put  off,  but  made  no  attempt  to  join  them  : 
only  kept  running  to  and  fro,  and  wringing  their  hands. 
Besides  these  there  was  one  on  his  knees  praying  over 
the  wooden  statue  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  as  large  as  life, 
which  the  sailors  had  reverently  detached  from  the  mast. 
It  washed  about  the  deck,  as  the  water  came  slushing  in 
from  the  sea,  and  pouring  out  at  the  scuppers  ;  and  this 
poor  soul  kept  following  it  on  his  knees,  with  his  hands 
clasped  at  it,  and  the  water  playing  with  it.    And  there 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  Ill 


was  the  J ew  palsied,  but  not  by  fear.  He  was  no  longer 
capable  of  so  petty  a  passion.  He  sat  cross-legged, 
bemoaning  his  bag,  and,  whenever  the  spray  lashed  him, 
shook  his  fist  at  where  it  came  from,  and  cursed  the 
Nazarenes,  and  their  gods,  and  their  devils,  and  their 
ships,  and  their  waters,  to  all  eternity. 

And  the  gigantic  Dominican,  having  shriven  the  whole 
ship,  stood  calmly  communing  with  his  own  spirit.  And 
the  Roman  woman  sat  pale  and  patient,  only  drawing 
her  child  closer  to  her  bosom  as  death  came  nearer. 

Gerard  saw  this,  and  it  awakened  his  manhood.  "  See  ! 
see ! "  he  said,  "  they  have  ta'en  the  boat  and  left  tha 
poor  woman  and  her  child  to  perish.'' 

His  heart  soon  set  his  wit  working. 

"Wife,  I'll  save  thee  yet,  please  God."  And  he  ran  to 
find  a  cask  or  a  plank  to  float  her.    There  was  none. 

Then  his  eye  fell  on  the  wooden  image  of  the  Virgin. 
He  caught  it  up  in  his  arms,  and,  heedless  of  a  wail  that 
issued  from  its  worshipper  like  a  child  robbed  of  its  toy, 
ran  aft  with  it.  "  Come,  wife,"  he  cried.  "  I'll  lash  thee 
and  the  child  to  this.  'Tis  sore  worm-eaten,  but  'twill 
serve." 

She  turned  her  great  dark  eye  on  him  and  said  a 
single  word : 
"Thyself?" 

But  with  wonderful  magnanimity  and  tenderness. 

"  I  am  a  man,  and  have  no  child  to  take  care  of." 

"  Ah ! "  said  she,  and  his  words  seemed  to  animate  her 
face  with  a  desire  to  live.  He  lashed  the  image  to  her 
side.  Then  with  the  hope  of  life  she  lost  something  of 
her  heroic  calm  ;  not  much  :  her  body  trembled  a  little, 
but  not  her  eye. 

The  ship  was  now  so  low  in  the  water  that  by  using 
an  oar  as  a  lever  he  could  slide  her  into  the  waves. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  while  yet  there  is  time." 


112 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


She  turned  her  great  Roman  eyes,  wet  now,  upon  him. 
"  Poor  youth  ! —  God  forgive  me  !  —  My  child  !  "  And 
he  launched  her  on  the  surge,  and  with  his  oar  kept  her 
from  being  battered  against  the  ship. 

A  heavy  hand  fell  on  him ;  a  deep  sonorous  voice 
sounded  in  his  ear  :  "  'Tis  well.    Now  come  with  me." 

It  was  the  gigantic  friar. 

Gerard  turned,  and  the  friar  took  two  strides,  and  laid 
hold  of  the  broken  mast.  Gerard  did  the  same,  obeying 
him  instinctively.  Between  them,  after  a  prodigious 
effort,  they  hoisted  up  the  remainder  of  the  mast,  and 
carried  it  off.  "  Fling  it  in,"  said  the  friar,  "  and  follow 
it."  They  flung  it  in;  but  one  of  the  bewildered,  pass- 
engers had  run  after  them,  and  jumped  first  and  got  on 
one  end.    Gerard  seized  the  other,  the  friar  the  middle. 

It  was  a  terrible  situation.  The  mast  rose  and  plunged 
with  each  wave  like  a  kicking  horse,  and  the  spray 
flogged  their  faces  mercilessly,  and  blinded  them :  to 
help  knock  them  off. 

Presently  was  heard  a  long  grating  noise  ahead.  The 
ship  had  struck,  and  soon  after,  she  being  stationary 
now,  they  were  hurled  against  her  with  tremendous 
force.  Their  companion's  head  struck  against  the  upper 
part  of  the  broken  rudder  with  a  horrible  crack,  and  was 
smashed  like  a  cocoa-nut  by  a  sledge-hammer.  He  sunk 
directly,  leaving  no  trace  but  a  red  stain  on  the  water, 
and  a  white  clot  on  the  jagged  rudder,  and  a  death  cry 
ringing  in  their  ears,  as  they  drifted  clear  under  the  lee 
of  the  black  hull.  The  friar  uttered  a  short  Latin  prayer 
for  the  safety  of  his  soul,  and  took  his  place  composedly. 
They  rolled  along  tine*  Ouvaioio ;  one  moment  they  saw 
nothing,  and  seemed  down  in  a  mere  basin  of  watery 
hills :  the  next  they  caught  glimpses  of  the  shore 
speckled  bright  with  people,  who  kept  throwing  up  their 
arms  with  wild  Italian  gestures  to  encourage  them,  and 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  113 


the  black  boat  driving  bottom  upwards,  and  between  it 
and  them  the  woman  rising  and  falling  like  themselves. 
She  had  come  across  a  paddle,  and  was  holding  her  child 
tight  with  her  left  arm,  and  paddling  gallantly  with  her 
right. 

When  they  had  tumbled  along  thus  for  a  long  time, 
suddenly  the  friar  said  quietly:  "I  touched  the  ground." 

"  Impossible,  father,"  said  Gerard,  "  we  are  more  than 
a  hundred  yards  from  shore.  Prithee,  prithee,  leave  not 
our  faithful  mast." 

"  My  son,"  said  the  friar,  "  you  speak  prudently.  But 
know  that  I  have  business  of  holy  Church  on  hand,  and 
may  not  waste  time  floating  when  I  can  walk,  in  her  serv- 
ice. There,  I  felt  it  with  my  toes  again ;  see  the  bene- 
fit of  wearing  sandals,  and  not  shoon.  Again;  and 
sandy.  Thy  stature  is  less  than  mine ;  keep  to  the 
mast !  I  walk."  He  left  the  mast  accordingly,  and  ex- 
tending his  powerful  arms,  rushed  through  the  water. 
Gerard  soon  followed  him.  At  each  overpowering  wave 
the  monk  stood  like  a  tower,  and  closing  his  mouth, 
threw  his  head  back  to  encounter  it,  and  was  entirely 
lost  under  it  awhile  ;  then  emerged,  and  ploughed  lustily 
on.  At  last  they  came  close  to  the  shore  ;  but  the  suc- 
tion outward  baffled  all  their  attempts  to  land.  Then 
the  natives  sent  stout  fishermen  into  the  sea,  holding 
by  long  spears  in  a  triple  chain ;  and  so  dragged  them 
ashore. 

The  friar  shook  himself,  bestowed  a  short  paternal 
benediction  on  the  natives,  and  went  on  to  Eome,  with 
eyes  bent  on  earth,  according  to  his  rule,  and  without 
pausing.  He  did  not  even  cast  a  glance  back  upon  that 
sea,  which  had  so  nearly  engulfed  him,  but  had  no  power 
to  harm  him  without  his  Master's  leave. 

While  he  stalks  on  alone  to  Eome  without  looking 
back,  I,  who  am  not  in  the  service  of  holy  Church,  stop 
8 


114  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

a  moment  to  say  that  the  reader  and  I  were  within  six 
inches  of  this  giant  once  before ;  but  we  escaped  him 
that  time.  Now,  I  fear,  we  are  in  for  him.  Gerard 
grasped  every  hand  upon  the  beach.  They  brought  him 
to  an  enormous  fire,  and  with  a  delicacy  he  would  hardly 
have  encountered  in  the  north,  left  him  to  dry  himself 
alone ;  on  this  he  took  out  of  his  bosom  a  parchment, 
and  a  paper,  and  dried  them  carefully.  When  this  was 
done  to  his  mind,  and  not  till  then,  he  consented  to  put 
on  a  fisherman's  dress  and  leave  his  own  by  the  fire,  and 
went  down  to  the  beach.  What  he  saw  may  be  briefly 
related. 

The  captain  stuck  by  the  ship,  not  so  much  from 
gallantry,  as  from  a  conviction  that  it  was  idle  to  resist 
Castor  or  Pollux,  whichever  it  was  that  had  come  for 
him  in  a  ball  of  fire. 

Nevertheless  the  sea  broke  up  the  ship  and  swept  the 
poop,  captain  and  all,  clear  of  the  rest,  and  took  him  safe 
ashore.  Gerard  had  a  principal  hand  in  pulling  him  out 
of  the  water.  The  disconsolate  Hebrew  landed  on 
another  fragment,  and  on  touching  earth,  offered  a  re- 
ward for  his  bag,  which  excited  little  sympathy,  but 
some  amusement.  Two  more  were  saved  on  pieces  of 
the  wreck.  The  thirty  egotists  came  ashore,  but  one  at 
a  time,  and  dead ;  one  breathed  still.  Him,  the  natives, 
with  excellent  intentions,  took  to  a  hot  fire.  So  then  he 
too  retired  from  this  shifting  scene. 

As  Gerard  stood  by  the  sea,  watching,  with  horror  and 
curiosity  mixed,  his  late  companions  washed  ashore,  a 
hand  was  laid  lightly  on  his  shoulder.  He  turned.  It 
was  the  Roman  matron,  burning  with  womanly  grati- 
tude. She  took  his  hand  gently,  and  raising  it  slowly 
to  her  lips,  kissed  it ;  but  so  nobly,  she  seemed  to  be 
conferring  an  honor  on  one  deserving  hand.  Then,  with 
face  all  beaming  and  moist  eyes,  she  held  her  child  up, 
and  made  him  kiss  his  preserver. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  115 


Gerard  kissed  the  child;  more  than  once.  He  was 
fond  of  children.  But  he  said  nothing.  He  was  much 
moved ;  for  she  did  not  speak  at  all,  except  with  her 
eyes,  and  glowing  cheeks,  and  noble  antique  gesture,  so 
large  and  stately.  Perhaps  she  was  right.  Gratitude  is 
not  a  thing  of  words.  It  was  an  ancient  Eoman  matron 
thanking  a  modern  from  her  heart  of  hearts. 

Next  day,  towards  afternoon,  Gerard — twice  as  old 
as  last  year,  thrice  as  learned  in  human  ways,  a  boy  no 
more,  but  a  man  who  had  shed  blood  in  self-defence,  and 
grazed  the  grave  by  land  and  sea  —  reached  the  eternal 
city ;  post  tot  naufragia  tutus. 


116  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Gerard  took  a  modest  lodging  on  the  west  bank  of 
the  Tiber,  and  every  day  went  forth  in  search  of  work, 
taking  a  specimen  round  to  every  shop  he  could  hear  of 
that  executed  such  commissions. 

They  received  him  coldly.  "We  make  our  letter 
somewhat  thinner  than  this,"  said  one.  "  How  dark 
your  ink  is,"  said  another.  But  the  main  cry  was, 
"  What  avails  this  ?  Scant  is  the  Latin  writ  here  now. 
Can  ye  not  write  Greek  ?  " 

"  Ay,  but  not  nigh  so  well  as  Latin." 

"  Then  you  shall  never  make  your  bread  at  Borne." 

Gerard  borrowed  a  beautiful  Greek  manuscript  at  a 
high  price,  and  went  home  with  a  sad  hole  in  his  purse, 
but  none  in  his  courage. 

In  a  fortnight  he  had  made  vast  progress  with  the 
Greek  character ;  so  then,  to  lose  no  time,  he  used  to 
work  at  it  till  noon,  and  hunt  customers  the  rest  of  the 
day. 

When  he  carried  round  a  better  Greek  specimen  than 
any  they  possessed,  the  traders  informed  him  that  Greek 
and  Latin  were  alike  unsalable  ;  the  city  was  thronged 
with  works  from  all  Europe.  He  should  have  come  last 
year. 

Gerard  bought  a  psaltery. 

His  landlady,  pleased  with  his  looks  and  manners, 
used  often  to  speak  a  kind  word  in  passing.  One  day 
she  made  him  dine  with  her,  and  somewhat  to  his  sur- 
prise asked  him  what  had  dashed  his  spirits.  He  told 
\ei.    She  gave  him  her  reading  of  the  matter.    "  Those 


the  cloister  and  the  hearth. 


11? 


siy  traders,  she  would  be  bound,  had  writers  in  their 
pay  for  whose  work  they  received  a  noble  price  and  paid 
a  sorry  one.  So  no  wonder  they  blow  cold  on  you.  Me- 
thinks  you  write  too  well.  How  know  I  that  ?  say  you. 
Marry  —  marry,  because  you  lock  not  your  door,  like  the 
churl  Pietro,  and  women  will  be  curious.  Ay,  ay,  you 
write  too  well  for  themP 

Gerard  asked  an  explanation. 

"  Why,"  said  she,  "  your  good  work  might  put  out  the 
eyes  of  that  they  are  selling." 

Gerard  sighed.  "  Alas !  dame,  you  read  folk  on  the 
ill  side,  and  you  so  kind  and  frank  yourself." 

"  My  dear  little  heart,  these  Romans  are  a  subtle  race. 
Me  ?    I  am  a  Siennese,  thanks  to  the  Virgin." 

"  My  mistake  was  leaving  Augsburg,"  said  Gerard. 

"  Augsburg  ?  "  said  she,  haughtily ;  "  is  that  a  place  to 
even  to  Rome  ?    I  never  heard  of  it,  for  my  part." 

She  then  assured  him  that  he  should  make  his  fortune 
in  spite  of  the  booksellers.  "Seeing  thee  a  stranger, 
they  lie  to  thee  without  sense  or  discretion.  Why,  all 
the  world  knows  that  our  great  folk  are  bitten  with  the 
writing  spider  this  many  years,  and  pour  out  their 
money  like  water,  and  turn  good  land  and  houses  into 
writ  sheepskins  to  keep  in  a  chest  or  a  cupboard.  God 
help  them,  and  send  them  safe  through  this  fury,  as  He 
hath  through  a  heap  of  others ;  and  in  sooth  hath  been 
somewhat  less  cutting  and  stabbing  among  rival  fac- 
tions, and  vindictive  eating  of  their  opposites'  livers, 
minced  and  fried,  since  scribbling  came  in.  Why,  /  can 
tell  you  two.  There  is  his  Eminence  Cardinal  Bassarion, 
and  his  Holiness  the  Pope  himself.  There  be  a  pair 
could  keep  a  score  such  as  thee  a-writing  night  and  day. 
But  I'll  speak  to  Teresa;  she  hears  the  gossip  of  the 
court." 

The  next  day  she  told  him  she  had  seen  Teresa,  and 


118  THE  CLOISTER  AH£>  THE  HEARTH. 

had  heard  of  five  more  signors  who  were  bitten  with  the 
writing  spider.  Gerard  took  down  their  names,  and 
bought  parchment,  and  busied  himself  for  some  days  in 
preparing  specimens.  He  left  one,  with  his  name  and 
address,  at  each  of  these  signors'  doors,  and  hopefully- 
awaited  the  result. 
There  was  none. 

Day  after  day  passed  and  left  him  heartsick. 

And  strange  to  say  this  was  just  the  time  when 
Margaret  was  fighting  so  hard  against  odds  to  feed  her 
male  dependents  at  Botterdam,  and  arrested  for  curing 
without  a  license  instead  of  killing  with  one. 

Gerard  saw  ruin  staring  him  in  the  face. 

He  spent  the  afternoons  picking  up  canzonets  and 
mastering  them.  He  laid  in  playing  cards  to  color,  and 
struck  off  a  meal  per  day. 

This  last  stroke  of  genius  got  him  into  fresh  trou- 
ble. 

In  these  "camere  locande"  the  landlady  dressed  all 
the  meals,  though  the  lodgers  bought  the  provisions.  So 
Gerard's  hostess  speedily  detected  him,  and  asked  him 
if  he  was  not  ashamed  himself ;  by  which  brusque  open- 
ing, having  made  him  blush  and  look  scared,  she  pacified 
herself  all  in  a  moment,  and  appealed  to  his  good  sense 
whether  adversity  was  a  thing  to  be  overcome  on  an 
empty  stomach. 

"  Fatienza,  my  lad !  times  will  mend,  meantime  I  will 
feed  you  for  the  love  of  heaven  "  (Italian  for  "  gratis  "). 

"Nay,  hostess,"  said  Gerard,  "my  purse  is  not  yet 
quite  void,  and  it  would  add  to  my  trouble  an  if  true  folk 
should  lose  their  due  by  me." 

"  Why,  you  are  as  mad  as  your  neighbor  Pietro,  with 
his  one  bad  picture." 

"  Why,  how  know  you  'tis  a  bad  picture  ?  " 

"  Because  nobody  will  buy  it.    There  is  one  that  hath 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  119 


no  gift.  He  will  have  to  don  casque  and  glaive,  and 
carry  his  panel  for  a  shield." 

Gerard  pricked  up  his  ears  at  this  :  so  she  told  him 
more.  Pietro  had  come  from  Florence  with  money  in 
his  purse,  and  an  unfinished  picture ;  had  taken  her  one 
unfurnished  room,  opposite  Gerard's,  and  furnished  it 
neatly.  When  his  picture  was  finished,  he  received 
visitors  and  had  offers  for  it;  these,  though  in  her  opin- 
ion liberal  ones,  he  had  refused  so  disdainfully  as  to 
make  enemies  of  his  customers.  Since  then  he  had 
often  taken  it  out  with  him  to  try  and  sell,  but  had 
always  brought  it  back ;  and,  the  last  month,  she  had  seen 
one  movable  after  another  go  out  of  his  room,  and  now 
he  wore  but  one  suit,  and  lay  at  night  on  a  great  chest. 
She  had  found  this  out  only  by  peeping  through  the  key- 
hole, for  he  locked  the  door  most  vigilantly  whenever 
he  went  out.  "  Is  he  afraid  we  shall  steal  his  chest,  or 
his  picture,  that  no  soul  in  all  Rome  is  weak  enough  to 
buy  ?  " 

"  Nay,  sweet  hostess,  see  you  not  'tis  his  poverty  he 
would  screen  from  view  ?  " 

"  And  the  more  fool  he  !  Are  all  our  hearts  as  ill  as 
his  ?    A  might  give  us  a  trial  first  any  way." 

"  How  you  speak  of  him !  Why,  his  case  is  mine  ;  and 
your  countryman  to  boot." 

"  Oh,  we  Siennese  love  strangers.  His  case  yours  ? 
nay,  'tis  just  the  contrary.  You  are  the  comeliest  youth 
ever  lodged  in  this  house  ;  hair  like  gold  :  he  is  a  dark, 
sour-visaged  loon.  Besides,  you  know  how  to  take  a 
woman  on  her  better  side ;  but  not  he.  Natheless  I  wish 
he  would  not  starve  to  death  in  my  house,  to  get  me  a 
bad  name.  Any  way,  one  starveling  is  enough  in  any 
house.  You  are  far  from  home,  and  it  is  for  me,  which 
am  the  mistress  here,  to  number  your  meals  — for  me 
and  the  Dutch  wife,  your  mother,  that  is  far  away :  we 


120  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


two  women  shall  settle  that  matter.  Mind  thou  thine 
own  business,  being  a  man,  and  leave  cooking  and  the 
like  to  us,  that  are  in  the  world  for  little  else  that  I  see 
but  to  roast  fowls,  and  suckle  men  at  starting,  and  sweep 
their  grown-up  cobwebs." 

"Dear  kind  dame,  in  sooth  you  do  often  put  me  in 
mind  of  my  mother  that  is  far  away." 

"  All  the  better ;  I'll  put  you  more  in  mind  of  her 
before  I  have  done  with  you."  And  the  honest  soul 
beamed  with  pleasure. 

Gerard  not  being  an  egotist,  nor  blinded  by  female 
partialities,  saw  his  own  grief  in  poor  proud  Pietro ;  and 
the  more  he  thought  of  it,  the  more  he  resolved  to  share 
his  humble  means  with  that  unlucky  artist;  Pietro's 
sympathy  would  repay  him.  He  tried  to  waylay  him : 
but  without  success. 

One  day  he  heard  a  groaning  in  the  room.  He  knocked 
at  the  door,  but  received  no  answer.  He  knocked  again. 
A  surly  voice  bade  him  enter. 

He  obeyed  somewhat  timidly,  and  entered  a  garret 
furnished  with  a  chair,  a  picture,  face  to  wall,  an  iron 
basin,  an  easel,  and  a  long  chest,  on  which  was  coiled  a 
haggard  young  man  with  a  wonderfully  bright  eye.  Any- 
thing more  like  a  coiled  cobra  ripe  for  striking  the  first 
comer  was  never  seen. 

"  Good  Signor  Pietro,"  said  Gerard,  "  forgive  me  that, 
weary  of  my  own  solitude,  I  intrude  on  yours ;  but  I  am 
your  nighest  neighbor  in  this  house,  and  methinks  your 
brother  in  fortune.    I  am  an  artist,  too." 

"  You  are  a  painter  ?  Welcome,  signor.  Sit  down  on 
my  bed." 

And  Pietro  jumped  off  and  waved  him  into  the  vacant 
throne  with  a  magnificent  demonstration  of  courtesy. 

Gerard  bowed  and  smiled,  but  hesitated  a  little.  "  I 
may  not  call  myself  a  painter.    I  am  a  writer,  a  calli- 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  121 


graph.  I  copy  Greek  and  Latin  manuscripts,  when  I  can 
get  them  to  copy." 

"  And  you  call  that  an  artist !  " 

"  Without  offence  to  your  superior  merit,  Signor 
Pietro." 

"  No  offence,  stranger,  none.  Only,  meseemeth,  an  art- 
ist is  one  who  thinks,  and  paints  his  thought.  Now  a 
calligraph  but  draws  in  black  and  white  the  thoughts  of 
another." 

"'Tis  well  distinguished,  signor.  But  then,  a  writer 
can  write  the  thoughts  of  the  great  ancients,  and  matters 
of  pure  reason,  such  as  no  man  may  paint :  ay,  and  the 
thoughts  of  God,  which  angels  could  not  paint.  But  let 
that  pass.    I  am  a  painter  as  well ;  but  a  sorry  one." 

"  The  better  thy  luck.  They  will  buy  thy  work  in 
Rome." 

"  But  seeking  to  commend  myself  to  one  of  thy  emi- 
nence, I  thought  it  well  rather  to  call  myself  a  capable 
writer  than  a  scurvy  painter." 

At  this  moment  a  step  was  heard  on  the  stair.  "  Ah  ! 
'tis  the  good  dame,"  cried  Gerard.  "  What  ho  !  hostess, 
1  am  here  in  conversation  with  Signor  Pietro.  I  dare 
say  he  will  let  me  have  my  humble  dinner  here." 

The  Italian  bowed  gravely. 

The  landlady  brought  in  Gerard's  dinner  smoking  and 
savory.  She  put  the  dish  down  on  the  bed  with  a  face 
divested  of  all  expression,  and  went. 

Gerard  fell  to.  But  ere  he  had  eaten  many  mouthfuls, 
he  stopped,  and  said :  "  I  am  an  ill-mannered  churl, 
Signor  Pietro.  I  ne'er  eat  to  my  mind,  when  I  eat 
alone.  For  our  Lady's  sake  put  a  spoon  into  this  ragout 
with  me  ;  'tis  not  unsavory,  I  promise  you." 

Pietro  fixed  his  glittering  eye  on  him. 

"  What,  good  youth,  thou  a  stranger,  and  offerest  me 
thy  dinner  ?  " 


122 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  Why,  see,  there  is  more  than  one  can  eat." 

"  Well,  I  accept,"  said  Pietro  :  and  took  the  dish  with 
some  appearance  of  calmness,  and  flung  the  contents  out 
of  window. 

Then  he  turned  trembling  with  mortification  and  ire, 
and  said  :  "  Let  that  teach  thee  to  offer  alms  to  an  artist 
thou  knowest  not,  master  writer." 

Gerard's  face  flushed  with  anger,  and  it  cost  him  a 
bitter  struggle  not  to  box  this  high-souled  creature's 
ears.  And  then  to  go  and  destroy  good  food  !  His 
mother's  milk  curdled  in  his  veins  with  horror  at  such 
impiety.  Finally,  pity  at  Pietro's  petulance  and  egotism, 
and  a  touch  of  respect  for  poverty-struck  pride  prevailed. 

However,  he  said  coldly,  "  Likely  what  thou  hast 
done  might  pass  in  a  novel  of  thy  countryman,  Signor 
Boccaccio ;  but  'twas  not  honest." 

"  Make  that  good !  "  said  the  painter  sullenly. 

"  I  offered  thee  half  my  dinner  ;  no  more.  But  thou 
hast  ta'en  it  all.  Hadst  a  right  to  throw  away  thy  share, 
but  not  mine.    Pride  is  well,  but  justice  is  better." 

Pietro  stared,  then  reflected. 

"'Tis  well.  I  took  thee  for  a  fool,  so  transparent  was 
thine  artifice.  Forgive  me  !  And  prithee  leave  me. 
Thou  seest  how  'tis  with  me.  The  world  hath  soured 
me.  I  hate  mankind.  I  was  not  always  so.  Once  more 
excuse  that  my  discourtesy,  and  fare  thee  well." 

Gerard  sighed,  and  made  for  the  door. 

But  suddenly  a  thought  struck  him.  "  Signor  Pietro," 
said  he,  "we  Dutchmen  are  hard  bargainers.  We  are 
the  lads  1  een  eij  schee?*en,'  that  is  'to  shave  an  egg.' 
Therefore,  I,  for  my  lost  dinner,  do  claim  to  feast  mine 
eyes  on  your  picture,  whose  face  is  towards  the  wall." 

"Nay,  nay,"  said  the  painter  hastily,  "ask  me  not 
that ;  I  have  already  misconducted  myself  enough  towards 
thee.    I  would  not  shed  thy  blood." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  123 


"  Saints  forbid  !    My  blood  ?  " 

"  Stranger/'  said  Pietro  sullenly,  "  irritated  by  repeated 
insults  to  my  picture,  which  is  my  child,  my  heart,  I  did 
in  a  moment  of  rage  make  a  solemn  vow  to  drive  my  dag- 
ger into  the  next  one  that  should  flout  it,  and  the  labor 
and  love  that  I  have  given  to  it." 

"  What,  are  all  to  be  slain  that  will  not  praise  this 
picture  ?  "  and  he  looked  at  its  back  with  curiosity. 

"  Nay,  nay  :  if  you  would  but  look  at  it,  and  hold  your 
parrot  tongues.  But  you  will  be  talking.  So  I  have 
turned  it  to  the  wall  forever.  Would  I  were  dead,  and 
buried  in  it  for  my  coffin  !  " 

Gerard  reflected. 

"  I  accept  the  conditions.  Show  me  the  picture !  I 
can  but  hold  my  peace." 

Pietro  went  and  turned  its  face,  and  put  it  in  the  best 
light  the  room  afforded,  and  coiled  himself  again  on  his 
chest,  with  his  eye  and  stiletto  glittering. 

The  picture  represented  the  Virgin  and  Christ,  flying 
through  the  air,  in  a  sort  of  cloud  of  shadowy  cherubic 
faces  ;  underneath  was  a  landscape,  forty  or  fifty  miles 
in  extent,  and  a  purple  sky  above. 

Gerard  stood  and  looked  at  it  in  silence.  Then  he 
stepped  close,  and  looked.  Then  he  retired  as  far  off 
as  he  could,  and  looked  ;  but  said  not  a  word. 

When  he  had  been  at  this  game  half  an  hour,  Pietro 
cried  out  querulously  and  somewhat  inconsistently: 
"  Well,  have  you  not  a  word  to  say  about  it  ?  " 

Gerard  started.  "  I  cry  your  mercy  ;  I  forgot  there 
were  three  of  us  here.  Ay,  I  have  much  to  say."  And 
he  drew  his  sword. 

"  Alas  !  alas ! "  cried  Pietro,  jumping  in  terror  from 
his  lair.    "  What  wouldst  thou  ?  " 

"Marry,  defend  myself  against  thy  bodkin,  signor; 
and  at  due  odds,  being,  as  aforesaid,  a  Dutchman.  There- 


124  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


fore,  hold  aloof,  while  I  deliver  judgment,  or  I  will  pin 
thee  to  the  wall  like  a  cockchafer." 

"  Oh !  is  that  all  ?  "  said  Pietro,  greatly  relieved.  "  I 
feared  you  were  going  to  stab  my  poor  picture  with  your 
sword,  stabbed  already  by  so  many  foul  tongues." 

Gerard  "  pursued  criticism  under  difficulties."  Put 
himself  in  a  position  of  defence,  with  his  sword's  point 
covering  Pietro,  and  one  eye  glancing  aside  at  the  pic- 
ture. "  First,  signor,  I  would  have  you  know  that,  in  the 
mixing  of  certain  colors,  and  in  the  preparation  of  your 
oil,  you  Italians  are  far  behind  us  Flemings.  But  let 
that  flea  stick.  For,  as  small  as  I  am,  I  can  show  you 
certain  secrets  of  the  Van  Eycks,  that  you  will  put  to 
marvellous  profit  in  your  next  picture.  Meantime  I  see 
in  this  one  the  great  qualities  of  your  nation.  Verily, 
ye  are  soils  filii.  If  we  have  color  you  have  imagination. 
Mother  of  heaven !  an  he  hath  not  flung  his  immortal 
soul  upon  the  panel.  One  thing  I  go  by  is  this  ;  it  makes 
other  pictures  I  once  admired  seem  drossy,  earth-born 
things.  The  drapery  here  is  somewhat  short  and  stiff. 
Why  not  let  it  float  freely,  the  figures  being  in  air  and 
motion  ?  " 

"  I  will !  I  will !  "  cried  Pietro  eagerly.  "  I  will  do 
anything  for  those  who  will  but  see  what  I  have  done." 

"  Humph  !  This  landscape  it  enlightens  me.  Hence- 
forth I  scorn  those  little  huddled  landscapes  that  did  erst 
content  me.  Here  is  nature's  very  face :  a  spacious 
plain,  each  distance  marked,  and  every  tree,  house,  figure, 
field  and  river  smaller  and  less  plain,  by  exquisite  grada- 
tion, till  vision  itself  melts  into  distance.  0  beautiful ! 
And  the  cunning  rogue  hath  hung  his  celestial  figure  in 
air  out  of  the  way  of  his  little  world  below.  Here,  float- 
ing saints  beneath  heaven's  purple  canopy.  There,  far 
down,  earth  and  her  busy  hives.  And  they  let  you  take 
this  painted  poetry,  this  blooming  hymn,  through  the 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


125 


streets  of  Rome  and  bring  it  home  unsold.  But  I  tell 
thee  in  Ghent  or  Bruges,  or  even  in  Rotterdam,  they 
would  tear  it  out  of  thy  hands.  But  'tis  a  common  say- 
ing that  a  stranger's  eye  sees  clearest.  Courage,  Pietro 
Vanucci  !  I  reverence  thee,  and  though  myself  a  scurvy 
painter,  do  forgive  thee  for  being  a  great  one.  Forgive 
thee  ?  I  thank  God  for  thee  and  such  rare  men  as  thou 
art ;  and  bow  the  knee  to  thee  in  just  homage.  Thy 
picture  is  immortal,  and  thou,  that  hast  but  a  chest  to 
sit  on,  art  a  king  in  thy  most  royal  art.  Viva,  il  maestro  ! 
Viva!" 

At  this  unexpected  burst  the  painter,  with  all  the 
abandon  of  his  nation,  flung  himself  on  Gerard's  neck. 
"  They  said  it  was  a  maniac's  dream,"  he  sobbed. 

"  Maniacs  themselves  !  no,  idiots  ! "  shouted  Gerard. 

"  Generous  stranger !  I  will  hate  men  no  more,  since 
the  world  hath  such  as  thee.  I  was  a  viper  to  fling  thy 
poor  dinner  away ;  a  wretch,  a  monster." 

"Well,  monster,  wilt  be  gentle  now,  and  sup  with 
me?" 

"  Ah  !  that  I  will.    Whither  goest  thou  ?  " 

"  To  order  supper  on  the  instant.  We  will  have  the 
picture  for  third  man." 

"  I  will  invite  it  whiles  thou  art  gone.  My  poor  pic- 
ture, child  of  my  heart." 

"  Ah !  master ;  'twill  look  on  many  a  supper  after  the 
worms  have  eaten  you  and  me." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Pietro. 


126 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

About  a  week  after  this  the  two  friends  sat  working 
together,  but  not  in  the  same  spirit.  Pietro  dashed  fit- 
fully at  his,  and  did  wonders  in  a  few  minutes,  and  then 
did  nothing,  except  abuse  it ;  then  presently  resumed  it 
in  a  fury,  to  lay  it  down  with  a  groan.  Through  all 
which  kept  calmly  working,  calmly  smiling,  the  canny 
Dutchman. 

To  be  plain,  Gerard,  who  never  had  a  friend  he  did 
not  master,  had  put  his  onagra  in  harness.  The  friends 
were  painting  playing  cards  to  boil  the  pot. 

When  done,  the  indignant  master  took  up  his  picture 
to  make  his  daily  tour  in  search  of  a  customer. 

Gerard  begged  him  to  take  the  cards  as  well,  and  try 
and  sell  them.  He  looked  all  the  rattlesnake,  but  event- 
ually embraced  Gerard  in  the  Italian  fashion,  and  took 
them,  after  first  drying  the  last-finished  ones  in  the  sun, 
which  was  now  powerful  in  that  happy  clime. 

Gerard,  left  alone,  executed  a  Greek  letter  or  two,  and 
then  mended  a  little  rent  in  his  hose.  His  landlady 
found  him  thus  employed,  and  inquired  ironically 
whether  there  were  no  women  in  the  house. 

"  When  you  have  done  that,"  said  she,  "  come  and  talk 
to  Teresa,  my  friend  I  spoke  to  thee  of,  that  hath  a 
husband  not  good  for  much,  which  brags  his  acquaint- 
ance with  the  great." 

Gerard  went  down,  and  who  should  Teresa  be  but  the 
Roman  matron ! 

"  Ah,  madama,"  said  he,  "  is  it  you  ?  The  good  dame 
told  me  not  that.    And  the  little  fair-haired  boy,  is  he 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  127 


well  ?  is  he  none  the  worse  for  his  voyage  in  that 
strange  boat  ? 99 

"  He  is  well,"  said  the  matron. 

"Why,  what  are  you  two  talking  about?"  said  the 
landlady,  staring  at  them  both  in  turn  ;  "and  why 
tremble  you  so,  Teresa  mia  ?  " 

"He  saved  my  child's  life,"  said  Teresa,  making  an 
effort  to  compose  herself. 

"  What !  my  lodger  ?  and  he  never  told  me  a  word  of 
that.    Art  not  ashamed  to  look  me  in  the  face  ?  " 

"  Alas !  speak  not  harshly  to  him,"  said  the  matron. 
She  then  turned  to  her  friend  and  poured  out  a  glowing 
description  of  Gerard's  conduct,  during  which  Gerard 
stood  blushing  like  a  girl,  and  scarce  recognizing  his  own 
performance,  gratitude  painted  it  so  fair. 

"And  to  think  thou  shouldst  ask  me  to  serve  thy 
lodger,  of  whom  I  knew  nought  but  that  he  had  thy 
good  word,  0  Fiammina :  and  that  was  enough  for  me. 
Dear  youth,  in  serving  thee  I  serve  myself." 

Then  ensued  an  eager  description,  by  the  two  women, 
of  what  had  been  done,  and  what  should  be  done,  to 
penetrate  the  thick  wall  of  fees,  commissions,  and  chi- 
canery, which  stood  between  the  patrons  of  art  and  an 
unknown  artist  in  the  Eternal  City. 

Teresa  smiled  sadly  at  Gerard's  simplicity  in  leaving 
specimens  of  his  skill  at  the  doors  of  the  great. 

"  What !  "  said  she,  "  without  promising  the  servants 
a  share  —  without  even  feeing  them,  to  let  the  signors 
see  thy  merchandise  !    As  well  have  flung  it  into  Tiber." 

"  Well-a-day  !  "  sighed  Gerard.  "  Then  how  is  an 
artist  to  find  a  patron  ?  for  artists  are  poor,  not  rich." 

"  By  going  to  some  city  nobler  and  not  so  greedy  as 
this,"  said  Teresa.  "  La  corte  Romana  non  vuoV  pecora 
senza  lana" 

She  fell  into  thought,  and  said  she  would  come  again 
to-morrow. 


128  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


The  landlady  felicitated  Gerard.  "  Teresa  has  got 
something  in  her  head/'  said  she. 

Teresa  was  scarce  gone  when  Pietro  returned  with  his 
picture,  looking  black  as  thunder.  Gerard  exchanged  a 
glance  with  the  landlady,  and  followed  him  up-stairs  to 
console  him. 

"What,  have  they  let  thee  bring  home  thy  master- 
piece ?  " 

"As  heretofore." 

"  More  fools  they,  then." 

"  That  is  not  the  worst." 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  They  have  bought  the  cards,"  yelled  Pietro,  and  ham- 
mered the  air  furiously  right  and  left. 

"  All  the  better,"  said  Gerard  cheerfully. 

"  They  flew  at  me  for  them.  They  were  enraptured 
with  them.  They  tried  to  conceal  their  longing  for 
them,  but  could  not.  I  saw,  I  feigned,  I  pillaged ;  curse 
the  boobies ! " 

And  he  flung  down  a  dozen  small  silver  coins  on  the 
floor,  and  jumped  on  them,  and  danced  on  them  with 
basilisk  eyes,  and  then  kicked  them  assiduously,  and 
sent  them  spinning  and  flying,  and  running  all  abroad. 
Down  went  Gerard  on  his  knees,  and  followed  the  mal- 
treated innocents  directly,  and  transferred  them  tenderly 
to  his  purse. 

"  Shouldst  rather  smile  at  their  ignorance,  and  put  it 
to  profit,"  said  he. 

"  And  so  I  will,"  said  Pietro,  with  concentrated  indig- 
nation. "  The  brutes  !  We  will  paint  a  pack  a  day ;  we 
will  set  the  whole  city  gambling  and  ruining  itself,  while 
we  live  like  princes  on  its  vices  and  stupidity.  There 
was  one  of  the  queens,  though,  I  had  fain  kept  back. 
'Twas  you  limned  her,  brother.  She  had  lovely  red- 
brown  hair  and  sapphire  eyes,  and  above  all,  soul." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  129 


"  Pietro,"  said  Gerard  softly,  "  I  painted  that  one  from 
my  heart. " 

The  quick-witted  Italian  nodded,  and  his  eyes  twinkled. 

"  You  love  her  so  well,  yet  leave  her." 

"  Pietro,  it  is  because  I  love  her  so  dear,  that  I  have 
wandered  all  this  weary  road." 

This  interesting  colloquy  was  interrupted  by  the  land- 
lady crying  from  below,  "  Come  down,  you  are  wanted." 
He  went  down,  and  there  was  Teresa  again. 

"  Come  with  me,  Ser  Gerard." 


130 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Gerard  walked  silently  beside  Teresa,  wondering  in 
his  own  mind,  after  the  manner  of  artists,  what  she  was 
going  to  with  him,  instead  of  asking  her.  So  at  last 
she  told  him  of  her  own  accord.  A  friend  had  informed 
her  of  a  working  goldsmith's  wife  who  had  wanted  a 
writer.  "  Her  shop  is  hard  by ;  you  will  not  have  far 
to  go." 

Accordingly  they  soon  arrived  at  the  goldsmith's  wife. 

"  Madama,"  said  Teresa,  "  Leonora  tells  me  you  want 
a  writer :  I  have  brought  you  a  beautiful  one  ;  he  saved 
my  child  at  sea.    Prithee  look  on  him  with  favor." 

The  goldsmith's  wife  complied  in  one  sense.  She 
fixed  her  eyes  on  Gerard's  comely  face,  and  could  hardly 
take  them  off  again.  But  her  reply  was  unsatisfactory. 
"Nay,  I  have  no  use  for  a  writer.  Ah  !  I  mind  now,  it 
is  my  gossip ;  Clselia,  the  sausage-maker,  wants  one  :  she 
told  me,  and  I  told  Leonora." 

Teresa  made  a  courteous  speech  and  withdrew. 

Clselia  lived  at  some  distance,  and  when  they  reached 
her  house  she  was  out.  Teresa  said  calmly,  "I  will 
await  her  return,"  and  sat  so  still,  and  dignified,  and 
statuesque,  that  Gerard  was  beginning  furtively  to  draw 
her,  when  Clselia  returned. 

"  Madama,  I  hear  from  the  goldsmith's  wife,  the  excel- 
lent Olympia,  that  you  need  a  writer  (here  she  took 
Gerard  by  the  hand  and  led  him  forward)  ;  I  have 
brought  you  a  beautiful  one ;  he  saved  my  child  from 
the  cruel  waves.  For  our  Lady's  sake,  look  with  favor 
on  him." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  131 


"  My  good  dame,  my  fair  ser,"  said  Claelia,  "  I  have  no 
use  for  a  writer ;  but  now  you  remind  me,  it  was  my 
friend  Appia  Claudia  asked  me  for  one  but  the  other 
day.    She  is  a  tailor,  lives  in  the  Via  Lepida." 

Teresa  retired  calmly. 

"  Madama,"  said  Gerard,  "this  is  likely  to  be  a  tedious 
business  for  you." 

Teresa  opened  her  eyes. 

"  What  was  ever  done  without  a  little  patience  ?  " 
She  added  mildly,  "We  will  knock  at  every  door  at 
Rome  but  you  shall  have  justice." 

"But,  madama,  I  think  we  are  dogged.  I  noticed  a 
man  that  follows  us,  sometimes  afar,  sometimes  close." 

"  I  have  seen  it,"  said  Teresa  coldly  :  but  her  cheek 
colored  faintly.    "  It  is  my  poor  Lodovico." 

She  stopped  and  turned,  and  beckoned  with  her  finger. 

A  figure  approached  them  somewhat  unwillingly. 

When  he  came  up,  she  gazed  him  full  in  the  face,  and 
he  looked  sheepish. 

"Lodovico  mio"  said  she,  "know  this  young  ser,  of 
whom  I  have  so  often  spoken  to  thee.  Know  him  and 
love  him,  for  he  it  was  who  saved  thy  wife  and  child." 

At  these  last  words  Lodovico,  who  had  been  bowing 
and  grinning  artificially,  suddenly  changed  to  an  expres- 
sion of  heartfelt  gratitude,  and  embraced  Gerard  warmly. 

Yet  somehow  there  was  something  in  the  man's  origi- 
nal manner,  and  his  having  followed  his  wife  by  stealth, 
that  made  Gerard  uncomfortable  under  this  caress.  How- 
ever, he  said,  "  We  shall  have  your  company,  Ser 
Lodovico  ?  " 

"  No,  signor,"  replied  Lodovico,  "  I  go  not  on  that  side 
Tiber." 

"  Addio,  then,"  said  Teresa  significantly. 

"  When  shall  you  return  home,  Teresa  mia  ?  " 

"  When  I  have  done  mine  errand,  Lodovico." 


132 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


They  pursued  their  way  in  silence.  Teresa  now  wore 
a  sad  and  almost  gloomy  air. 

To  be  brief,  Appia  Claudia  was  merciful,  and  did  not 
send  them  over  Tiber  again,  but  only  a  hundred  yards 
down  the  street  to  Lucretia,  who  kept  the  glove  shop; 
she  it  was  who  wanted  a  writer;  but  what  for,  Appia 
Claudia  could  not  conceive.  Lucretia  was  a  merry  little 
dame,  who  received  them  heartily  enough,  and  told  them 
she  wanted  no  writer,  kept  all  her  accounts  in  her  head. 
"  It  was  for  my  confessor,  Father  Colonna ;  he  is  mad 
after  them." 

"  I  have  heard  of  his  excellency,"  said  Teresa. 

"  Who  has  not  ?  " 

"  But,  good  dame,  he  is  a  friar ;  he  has  made  vow  of 
poverty.  I  cannot  let  the  young  man  write  and  not  be 
paid.    He  saved  my  child  at  sea." 

"  Did  he  now  ?  "  And  Lucretia  cast  an  approving  look 
on  Gerard.  "  Well,  make  your  mind  easy ;  a  Colonna 
never  wants  for  money.  The  good  father  has  only  to 
say  the  word,  and  the  princes  of  his  race  will  pour  a 
thousand  crowns  into  his  lap.  And  such  a  confessor, 
dame !  the  best  in  Eome.  His  head  is  leagues  and 
leagues  away  all  the  while  ;  he  never  heeds  what  you  are 
saying.  Why,  I  think  no  more  of  confessing  my  sins 
to  him  than  of  telling  them  to  that  wall.  Once,  to  try 
him,  I  confessed,  along  with  the  rest,  as  how  I  had  killed 
my  lodger's  little  girl  and  baked  her  in  a  pie.  Well, 
when  my  voice  left  off  confessing,  he  started  out  of  his 
dream,  and  says  he,  a-mustering  up  a  gloom,  '  My  erring 
sister,  say  three  paternosters  and  three  Ave  Marias  kneel- 
ing, and  eat  no  butter  nor  eggs  next  Wednesday,  and 
pax  vobiscum  /  9  and  off  a  went  with  his  hands  behind 
him,  looking  as  if  there  was  no  such  thing  as  me  in  the 
world." 

Teresa  waited  patiently,  then  calmly  brought  this  dis- 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


133 


cursive  lady  back  to  the  point :  "  Would  she  be  so  kind 
as  to  go  with  this  good  youth  to  the  friar  and  speak  for 
him?" 

"  Alack !  how  can  I  leave  my  shop  ?  And  what  need  ? 
His  door  is  aye  open  to  writers,  and  painters,  and  schol- 
ars, and  all  such  cattle.  Why,  one  day  he  would  not 
receive  the  Duke  d'Urbino,  because  a  learned  Greek  was 
closeted  with  him,  and  the  friar's  head  and  his  so  close 
together  over  a  dusty  parchment  just  come  in  from 
Greece,  as  you  could  put  one  cowl  over  the  pair.  His 
wench  Onesta  told  me.  She  mostly  looks  in  here  for  a 
chat  when  she  goes  an  errand." 

"  This  is  the  man  for  thee,  my  friend,"  said  Teresa. 

"  All  you  have  to  do,"  continued  Lucretia,  "  is  to  go  to 
his  lodgings  (my  boy  shall  show  them  you),  and  tell 
Onesta  you  come  from  me,  and  you  are  a  writer,  and  she 
will  take  you  up  to  him.  If  you  put  a  piece  of  silver 
in  the  wench's  hand,  'twill  do  you  no  harm ;  that  stands 
to  reason." 

"  I  have  silver,"  said  Teresa  warmly. 

"  But  stay,"  said  Lucretia,  "  mind  one  thing.  What 
the  young  man  saith  he  can  do,  that  he  must  be  able  to 
do,  or  let  him  shun  the  good  friar  like  poison.  He  is  a 
very  wild  beast  against  all  bunglers.  Why,  'twas  but 
t'other  day  one  brought  him  an  ill-carved  crucifix.  Says 
he,  '  Is  this  how  you  present  Salvator  Mundi  ?  who 
died  for  you  in  mortal  agony ;  and  you  go  and  grudge 
him  careful  work.  This  slovenly  gimcrack  a  crucifix  ? 
But  that  it  is  a  crucifix  of  some  sort,  and  I  am  a  holy 
man,  I'd  dust  your  jacket  with  your  crucifix,'  says  he. 
Onesta  heard  every  word  through  the  keyhole ;  so 
mind." 

"Have  no  fears,  madama,"  said  Teresa,  loftily.  "I 
will  answer  for  his  ability ;  he  saved  my  child." 

Gerard  was  not  subtle  enough  to  appreciate  this  con- 


134  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


elusion  :  and  was  so  far  from  sharing  Teresa's  confidence 
that  he  begged  a  respite.  He  would  rather  not  go  to 
the  friar  to-day  :  would  not  to-morrow  do  as  well  ? 

"  Here  is  a  coward  for  ye,"  said  Lucretia. 

"  No,  he  is  not  a  coward,"  said  Teresa,  firing  up.  "  He 
is  modest." 

"I  am  afraid  of  this  high-born,  fastidious  friar,"  said 
Gerard.  "Consider,  he  has  seen  the  handiwork  of  all 
the  writers  in  Italy,  dear  Dame  Teresa;  if  you  would  but 
let  me  prepare  a  better  piece  of  work  than  yet  I  have 
done,  and  then  to-morrow  I  will  face  him  with  it." 

"  I  consent,"  said  Teresa. 

They  walked  home  together. 

Not  far  from  his  own  lodging  was  a  shop  that  sold 
vellum.  There  was  a  beautiful  white  skin  in  the  win- 
dow. Gerard  looked  at  it  wistfully ;  but  he  knew  he 
could  not  pay  for  it;  so  he  went  on  rather  hastily. 
However,  he  soon  made  up  his  mind  where  to  get  vel- 
lum ;  and,  parting  with  Teresa  at  his  own  door,  ran 
hastily  up  stairs,  and  took  the  bond  he  had  brought  all 
the  way  from  Sevenbergen,  and  laid  it  with  a  sigh  on 
the  table.  He  then  prepared  with  his  chemicals  to  erase 
the  old  writing ;  but,  as  this  was  his  last  chance  of  read- 
ing it,  he  now  overcame  his  deadly  repugnance  to  bad 
writing,  and  proceeded  to  decipher  the  deed  in  spite  of 
its  detestable  contractions.  It  appeared  by  this  deed 
that  Ghysbrecht  Van  Swieten  was  to  advance  some 
money  to  Floris  Brandt  on  a  piece  of  land,  and  was  to 
repay  himself  out  of  the  rent. 

On  this  Gerard  felt  it  would  be  imprudent  and  im- 
proper to  destroy  the  deed.  On  the  contrary  he  vowed 
to  decipher  every  word  at  his  leisure.  He  went  down- 
stairs, determined  to  buy  a  small  piece  of  vellum  with 
his  half  of  the  card-money. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  he  found  the  landlady  and 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  135 

Teresa  talking.  At  sight  of  him  the  former  cried : 
"Here  he  is.  You  are  caught,  donna  mia.  See  what 
she  has  bought  you  ! "  And  whipped  out  from  under 
her  apron  the  very  skin  of  vellum  Gerard  had  longed 
for. 

"  Why,  dame  !  why,  Donna  Teresa ! "  And  he  was 
speechless  with  pleasure  and  astonishment. 

"  Dear  Donna  Teresa,  there  is  not  a  skin  in  all  Rome 
like  it.  However  came  you  to  hit  on  this  one  ?  'Tis 
glamour." 

"Alas,  dear  boy,  did  not  thine  eye  rest  on  it  with 
desire  ?  and  didst  thou  not  sigh  in  turning  away  from 
it  ?  And  was  it  for  Teresa  to  let  thee  want  the  thing 
after  that  ?  " 

"  What  sagacity  !  what  goodness,  madama !  Oh,  dame, 
I  never  thought  I  should  possess  this.  What  did  you 
pay  for  it  ?  " 

"  I  forget.  Addio,  Fiammina.  Addio,  Ser  Gerard. 
Be  happy,  be  prosperous,  as  you  are  good."  And  the 
Roman  matron  glided  away  while  Gerard  was  hesitating, 
and  thinking  how  to  offer  to  pay  so  stately  a  creature 
for  her  purchase.  , 

The  next  day  in  the  afternoon  he  went  to  Lucretia, 
and  her  boy  took  him  to  Fra  Colonna's  lodgings.  He 
announced  his  business,  and  feed  Onesta,  and  she  took 
him  up  to  the  friar.  Gerard  entered  with  a  beating 
heart.  The  room,  a  large  one,  was  strewed  and  heaped 
with  objects  of  art,  antiquity,  and  learning,  lying  about 
in  rich  profusion  and  confusion.  Manuscripts,  pictures, 
carvings  in  wood  and  ivory,  musical  instruments ;  and 
in  this  glorious  chaos  sat  the  friar,  poring  intently  over 
an  Arabian  manuscript. 

He  looked  up  a  little  peevishly  at  the  interruption. 
Onesta  whispered  in  his  ear. 

"Very  well,"  said  he.     "Let  him  be  seated.  Stay; 


136  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


young  man,  show  me  how  you  write."  And  he  threw 
Gerard  a  piece  of  paper,  and  pointed  to  an  inkhorn. 

"  So  please  you,  reverend  father,"  said  Gerard,  "  my 
hand  it  trembleth  too  much  at  this  moment ;  but  last 
night  I  wrote  a  vellum  page  of  Greek,  and  the  Latin 
version  by  its  side,  to  show  the  various  character." 

"  Show  it  me." 

Gerard  brought  the  work  to  him  in  fear  and  trem- 
bling ;  then  stood,  heart-sick,  awaiting  his  verdict. 

When  it  came  it  staggered  him.  For  the  verdict  was, 
a  Dominican  falling  on  his  neck. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


137 


CHAPTER  X. 

Happy  the  man  who  has  two  chain-cables ;  merit  and 
women. 

Oh,  that  I,  like  Gerard,  had  a  chaine  des  dames  to  pull 
up  by! 

I  would  be  prose  laureate,  or  professor  of  the  spasmodic, 
or  something,  in  no  time.  En  attendant,  I  will  sketch 
the  Fra  Colonna. 

The  true  revivers  of  ancient  learning  and  philosophy 
were  two  writers  of  fiction  —  Petrarch  and  Boccaccio. 

Their  labors  were  not  crowned  with  great,  public,  and 
immediate  success ;  but  they  sowed  the  good  seed ;  and 
it  never  perished,  but  quickened  in  the  soil,  awaiting 
sunshine. 

From  their  day  Italy  was  never  without  a  native 
scholar  or  two,  versed  in  Greek ;  and  each  learned  Greek 
who  landed  there  was  received  fraternally.  The  four- 
teenth century,  ere  its  close,  saw  the  birth  of  Poggio, 
Valla,  and  the  elder  Guarino :  and  early  in  the  fifteenth 
Florence  under  Cosmo  de  Medici  was  a  nest  of  Platonists. 
These,  headed  by  Gemistus  Pletho,  a  born  Greek,  began 
about  a.d.  1440.  to  write  down  Aristotle.  For  few  minds 
are  big  enough  to  be  just  to  great  A  without  being  unjust 
to  capital  B. 

Theodore  Gaza  defended  that  great  man  with  modera- 
tion ;  George  of  Trebizond  with  acerbity,  and  retorted 
on  Plato.  Then  Cardinal  Bessarion,  another  born  Greek, 
resisted  the  said  George  and  his  idol,  in  a  tract  Adversus 
calumniator  em  Platonis. 

Pugnacity,  whether  wise  or  not,  is  a  form  of  vitality. 


138  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

Born  without  controversial  bile  in  so  zealous  an  epoch, 
Francesco  Colonna,  a  young  nobleman  of  Florence,  lived 
for  the  arts.  At  twenty  he  turned  Dominican  friar. 
His  object  was  quiet  study.  He  retired  from  idle  com- 
pany, and  faction  fights,  the  humming  and  the  stinging 
of  the  human  hive,  to  St.  Dominic  and  the  Nine  Muses. 

An  eager  student  of  languages,  pictures,  statues,  chro- 
nology, coins,  and  monumental  inscriptions.  These  last 
loosened  his  faith  in  popular  histories. 

He  travelled  many  years  in  the  East,  and  returned 
laden  with  spoils  :  master  of  several  choice  MSS.,  and 
versed  in  Greek  and  Latin,  Hebrew  and  Syriac.  He 
found  his  country  had  not  stood  still.  Other  lettered 
princes  besides  Cosmo  had  sprung  up.  Alfonso,  King  of 
Naples,  Nicolas  d'Este,  Lionel  d'Este,  etc.  Above  all, 
his  old  friend  Thomas  of  Sarzana  had  been  made  pope, 
and  had  lent  a  mighty  impulse  to  letters ;  had  accumu- 
lated five  thousand  MSS.  in  the  library  of  the  Vatican, 
and  had  set  Poggio  to  translate  Diodorus  Siculus  and 
Xenophon's  Cyropsedia,  Laurentius  Valla  to  translate 
Herodotus  and  Thucydides,  Theodore  Gaza,  Theophras- 
tus ;  George  of  Trebizond,  Eusebius,  and  certain  treatises 
of  Plato,  etc.,  etc. 

The  monk  found  Plato  and  Aristotle  under  armistice, 
but  Poggio  and  Valla  at  loggerheads  over  verbs  and 
nouns,  and  on  fire  with  odium  philologicum.  All  this 
was  heaven ;  and  he  settled  down  in  his  native  land,  his 
life  a  rosy  dream.  None  so  happy  as  the  versatile,  pro- 
vided they  have  not  their  bread  to  make  by  it.  And 
Fra  Colonna  was  versatility.  He  knew  seven  or  eight 
languages,  and  a  little  mathematics ;  could  write  a  bit, 
paint  a  bit,  model  a  bit,  sing  a  bit,  strum  a  bit ;  and 
could  relish  superior  excellence  in  all  these  branches. 
For  this  last  trait  he  deserved  to  be  as  happy  as  he  was. 
For,  gauge  the  intellects  of  your  acquaintances,  and  you 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  139 


will  find  but  few  whose  minds  are  neither  deaf  nor  blind 
nor  dead  to  some  great  art  or  science, 

And  wisdom  at  one  entrance  quite  shut  out. 

And  such  of  them  as  are  conceited  as  well  as  stupid, 
shall  even  parade,  instead  of  blushing  for,  the  holes  in 
their  intellects. 

A  zealot  in  art,  the  friar  was  a  sceptic  in  religion. 

In  every  age  there  are  a  few  men  who  hold  the  opin- 
ions of  another  age ;  past  or  future.  Being  a  lump  of 
simplicity,  his  scepticism  was  as  naif  as  his  enthusiasm. 
He  affected  to  look  on  the  religious  ceremonies  of  his 
day  as  his  models ;  the  heathen  philosophers  regarded 
the  worship  of  gods  and  departed  heroes,  mummeries 
good  for  the  populace.  But  here  his  mind  drew  uncon- 
sciously a  droll  distinction.  Whatever  Christian  cere- 
mony his  learning  taught  him  was  of  purely  pagan 
origin,  that  he  respected  out  of  respect  for  antiquity ; 
though  had  he,  with  his  turn  of  mind,  been  a  pagan  and 
its  contemporary,  he  would  have  scorned  it  from  his  phil- 
osophic heights. 

Fra  Colonna  was  charmed  with  his  new  artist,  and, 
having  the  run  of  half  the  palaces  in  Rome,  sounded  his 
praises  so  that  he  was  soon  called  upon  to  resign  him. 
He  told  Gerard  what  great  princes  wanted  him.  "  But 
I  am  so  happy  with  you,  father,"  objected  Gerard. 
"Fiddlestick  about  being  happy  with  me/'  said  Fra 
Colonna,  "  you  must  not  be  happy ;  you  must  be  a  man 
of  the  world ;  the  grand  lesson  I  impress  on  the  young 
is,  be  a  man  of  the  world.  Now  these  Montesini  can 
pay  you  three  times  as  much  as  I  can,  and  they  shall  too 
—  by  Jupiter." 

And  the  friar  clapped  a  terrific  price  on  Gerard's  pen. 
It  was  acceded  to  without  a  murmur.    Much  higher 


140  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

prices  were  going  for  copying  than  authorship  evei 
obtained  for  centuries  under  the  printing-press. 

Gerard  had  three  hundred  crowns  for  Aristotle's  treat- 
ise on  rhetoric. 

The  great  are  mighty  sweet  upon  all  their  pets,  while 
the  fancy  lasts;  and  in  the  rage  for  Greek  MSS.  the 
handsome  writer  soon  became  a  pet,  and  nobles  of  both 
sexes  caressed  him  like  a  lapdog. 

It  would  have  turned  a  vain  fellow's  head ;  but  the  canny 
Dutchman  saw  the  steel  hand  beneath  the  velvet  glove, 
and  did  not  presume.  Nevertheless  it  was  a  proud  day 
for  him  when  he  found  himself  seated  with  Fra  Colonna 
at  the  table  of  his  present  employer,  Cardinal  Bessarion. 
They  were  about  a  mile  from  the  top  of  that  table ;  but, 
never  mind,  there  they  were ;  and  Gerard  had  the  advan- 
tage of  seeing  roast  pheasants  dished  up  with  all  their 
feathers  as  if  they  had  just  flown  out  of  a  coppice  instead 
of  off  the  spit :  also  chickens  cooked  in  bottles,  and 
tender  as  peaches.  But  the  grand  novelty  was  the  nap- 
kins, surpassingly  fine,  and  folded  into  cocked  hats,  and 
birds'  wings,  and  fans,  etc.,  instead  of  lying  flat.  This 
electrified  Gerard:  though  my  readers  have  seen  the 
dazzling  phenomenon  without  tumbling  backwards  chair 
and  all. 

After  dinner  the  tables  were  split  in  pieces,  and  carried 
away,  and  lo !  under  each  was  another  table  spread  with 
sweetmeats.  The  signoras  and  signorinas  fell  upon  them 
and  gormandized ;  but  the  signors1  eyed  them  with  rea- 
sonable suspicion. 

"But,  dear  father,"  objected  Gerard,  "I  see  not  the 
bifurcal  daggers  with  which  men  say  his  excellency 
armeth  the  left  hand  of  a  man." 

"Nay,  'tis  the  Cardinal  Orsini  which  hath  invented 
yon  peevish  instrument  for  his  guests  to  fumble  their 
meats  withal.     One,  being  in  haste,  did  skewer  his 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  141 


tongue  to  his  palate  with  it,  I  hear;  0  tempora,  0 
mores  /  The  ancients,  reclining  god-like  at  their  feasts, 
how  had  they  spurned  such  pedantries." 

As  soon  as  the  ladies  had  disported  themselves  among 
the  sugar-plums,  the  tables  were  suddenly  removed,  and 
the  guests  sat  in  a  row  against  the  wall.  Then  came  in, 
ducking  and  scraping,  two  ecclesiastics  with  lutes,  and 
kneeled  at  the  cardinal's  feet  and  there  sang  the  service 
of  the  day ;  then  retired  with  a  deep  obeisance :  in  an- 
swer to  which  the  cardinal  fingered  his  skull-cap  as  our 
late  Iron  Duke  his  hat:  the  company  dispersed,  and 
Gerard  had  dined  with  a  cardinal,  and  one  that  had 
thrice  just  missed  being  pope. 

But  greater  honor  was  in  store. 

One  day  the  cardinal  sent  for  him,  and,  after  praising 
the  beauty  of  his  work,  took  him  in  his  coach  to  the 
Vatican,  and  up  a  private  stair  to  a  luxurious  little  room 
with  a  great  oriel  window.  Here  were  inkstands,  slop^ 
ing  frames  for  writing  on,  and  all  the  instruments  of  art. 
The  cardinal  whispered  a  courtier,  and  presently  the 
Pope's  private  secretary  appeared  with  a  glorious,  grimy 
old  MS.  of  "  Plutarch's  Lives."  And  soon  Gerard  was 
seated  alone  copying  it,  awe-struck,  yet  half  delighted  at 
the  thought  that  his  Holiness  would  handle  his  work  and 
read  it. 

The  papal  inkstands  were  all  glorious  externally ;  but 
within  the  ink  was  vile.  But  Gerard  carried  ever  good 
ink,  home-made,  in  a  dirty  little  inkhorn :  he  prayed  on 
his  knees  for  a  firm  and  skilful  hand,  and  set  to  work. 

One  side  of  his  room  was  nearly  occupied  by  a  massive 
curtain  divided  in  the  centre :  but  its  ample  folds  over- 
lapped. After  a  while,  Gerard  felt  drawn  to  peep  through 
that  curtain.  He  resisted  the  impulse.  It  returned.  It 
overpowered  him.  He  left  Plutarch;  stole  across  the 
matted  floor ;  took  the  folds  of  the  curtain,  and  gently 


142  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


gathered  them  up  with  his  fingers,  and  putting  his  nose 
through  the  chink  ran  it  against  a  cold  steel  halbert. 
Two  soldiers  armed  cap-a-pie  were  holding  their  glitter- 
ing weapons  crossed  in  a  triangle.  Gerard  drew  swiftly 
back :  but  in  that  instant  he  heard  the  soft  murmur  of 
voices  and  saw  a  group  of  persons  cringing  before  some 
hidden  figure. 

He  never  repeated  his  attempt  to  pry  through  the 
guarded  curtain,  but  often  eyed  it.  Every  hour  or  so  an 
ecclesiastic  peeped  in,  eyed  him,  chilled  him,  and  exit. 
All  this  was  gloomy  and  mechanical.  But  the  next  day 
a  gentleman,  richly  armed,  bounced  in,  and  glared  at 
him.    "  What  is  toward  here  ?  "  said  he. 

G-erard  told  him  he  was  writing  out  Plutarch,  with  the 
help  of  the  saints.  The  spark  said  he  did  not  know  the 
signor  in  question.  Gerard  explained  the  circumstances 
of  time  and  space  that  had  deprived  the  signor  Plutarch 
of  the  advantage  of  the  spark's  conversation. 

"  Oh !  one  of  those  old  dead  Greeks  they  keep  such  a 
coil  about." 

"Ay,  signor,  one  of  them,  who,  being  dead,  yet  live." 

"I  understand  you  not,  young  man,"  said  the  noble, 
with  all  the  dignity  of  ignorance.  "  What  did  the  old 
fellow  write  ?  Love  stories  ?  "  and  his  eyes  sparkled  ; 
"  merry  tales,  like  Boccaccio  ?  " 

"  Nay ;  lives  of  heroes,  and  sages." 

"  Soldiers,  and  popes  ?  " 

"  Soldiers,  and  princes." 

"  Wilt  read  me  of  them  some  day  ?  " 

"And  willingly,  signor.  But  what  would  they  say 
who  employ  me,  were  I  to  break  off  work  ?  " 

"  Oh,  never  heed  that ;  know  you  not  who  I  am  ?  I 
am  Jacques  Bonaventura,  nephew  to  his  Holiness  the 
Pope,  and  captain  of  his  guards.  And  I  came  here  to 
look  after  my  fellows.    I  trow  they  have  turned  them 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  143 

out  of  their  room  for  you."  Signor  Bonaventura  then 
hurried  away.  This  lively  companion,  however,  having 
acquired  a  habit  of  running  into  that  little  room,  and 
finding  Gerard  good  company,  often  looked  in  on  him, 
and  chattered  ephemeralities,  while  Gerard  wrote  the 
immortal  lives. 

One  day  he  came,  a  changed  and  moody  man,  and 
threw  himself  into  a  chair,  crying,  "  Ah,  traitress ! 
traitress  !  "  Gerard  inquired  what  was  his  ill  ?  "  Trai- 
tress !  traitress ! "  was  the  reply.  Whereupon  Gerard 
wrote  Plutarch.  Then  says  Bonaventura,  "I  am  melan- 
choly ;  and  for  our  Lady's  sake  read  me  a  story  out  of 
Ser  Plutarcho,  to  soothe  my  bile ;  in  all  that  Greek  is 
there  nought  about  lovers  betrayed  ?  " 

Gerard  read  him  the  life  of  Alexander.  He  got 
excited,  marched  about  the  room,  and  embracing  the 
reader,  vowed  to  shun  "  soft  delights,"  that  bed  of 
nettles,  and  follow  glory. 

Who  so  happy  now  as  Gerard  ?  His  art  was  honored, 
and  fabulous  prices  paid  for  it;  in  a  year  or  two  he 
should  return  by  sea  to  Holland,  with  good  store  of 
money,  and  set  up  with  his  beloved  Margaret  in  Bruges, 
or  Antwerp,  or  dear  Augsburg,  and  end  their  days  in 
peace,  and  love,  and  healthy,  happy  labor.  His  heart 
never  strayed  an  instant  from  her. 

In  his  prosperity  he  did  not  forget  poor  Pietro.  He 
took  the  Fra  Colonna  to  see  his  picture.  The  friar 
inspected  it  severely  and  closely,  fell  on  the  artist's 
neck,  and  carried  the  picture  to  one  of  the  Colonnas, 
who  gave  a  noble  price  for  it. 

Pietro  descended  to  the  first  floor,  and  lived  like  a 
gentleman. 

But  Gerard  remained  in  his  garret.  To  increase  his 
expenses  would  have  been  to  postpone  his  return  to 
Margaret.  Luxury  had  no  charms  for  the  single-hearted 
one,  when  opposed  to  love. 


144  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


Jacques  Bonaventura  made  him  acquainted  with  other 
gay  young  fellows.  They  loved  him,  and  sought  to 
entice  him  into  vice,  and  other  expenses.  But  he  begged 
humbly  to  be  excused.  So  he  escaped  that  temptation. 
But  a  greater  was  behind. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


145 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Fra  Colonna  had  the  run  of  the  Pope's  library,  and 
sometimes  left  off  work  at  the  same  hour  and  walked 
the  city  with  Gerard;  on  which  occasions  the  happy 
artist  saw  all  things  en  beau,  and  was  wrapped  up  in  the 
grandeur  of  Rome  and  its  churches,  palaces,  and  ruins. 

The  friar  granted  the  ruins,  but  threw  cold  water  on 
the  rest. 

"  This  place  Rome  ?  It  is  but  the  tomb  of  mighty 
Rome."  He  showed  Gerard  that  twenty  or  thirty  feet 
of  the  old  triumphal  arches  were  underground,  and  that 
the  modern  streets  ran  over  ancient  palaces,  and  over 
the  tops  of  columns ;  and  coupling  this  with  the  compara- 
tively narrow  limits  of  the  modern  city,  and  the  gigantic 
vestiges  of  antiquity  that  peeped  above  ground  here  and 
there,  he  uttered  a  somewhat  remarkable  simile.  "  I  tell 
thee  this  village  they  call  Rome  is  but  as  one  of  those 
swallows'  nests  ye  shall  see  built  on  the  eaves  of  a 
decayed  abbey." 

"Old  Rome  must  indeed  have  been  fair  then,"  said 
Gerard. 

"  Judge  for  yourself,  my  son ;  you  see  the  great  sewer, 
the  work  of  the  Romans  in  their  very  childhood,  and 
shall  outlast  Vesuvius.  You  see  the  fragments  of  the 
Temple  of  Peace.  How  would  you  look  could  you  see 
also  the  Capitol  with  its  five  and  twenty  temples  ?  Do 
but  note  this  Monte  Savello :  what  is  it,  an  it  please  you, 
but  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  theatre  of  Marcellus  ?  and 
as  for  Testacio,  one  of  the  highest  hills  in  modern  Rome, 
it  is  but  an  ancient  dust-heap ;  the  women  of  old  Rome 
10 


146  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


flung  their  broken  pots  and  pans  there,  and  lo,  a 
mountain. 

'  Ex  pede  Herculem ;  ex  ungue  leonem.1 " 

Gerard  listened  respectfully,  but  when  the  holy  friar 
proceeded  by  analogy  to  imply  that  the  moral  superiority 
of  the  heathen  Romans  was  proportionably  grand,  he 
resisted  stoutly.  "Has  then  the  world  lost  by  Christ 
his  coming  ?  "  said  he ;  but  blushed,  for  he  felt  himself 
reproaching  his  benefactor. 

"Saints  forbid!"  said  the  friar.  "'Twere  heresy  to 
say  so."  And,  having  made  this  direct  concession,  he 
proceeded  gradually  to  evade  it  by  subtle  circumlocution, 
and  reached  the  forbidden  door  by  the  spiral  back  stair- 
case. In  the  midst  of  all  which  they  came  to  a  church 
with  a  knot  of  persons  in  the  porch.  A  demon  was 
being  exorcised  within.  Now  Fra  Colonna  had  a  way  of 
uttering  a  curious  sort  of  little  moan,  when  things  Zeno 
or  Epicurus  would  not  have  swallowed  were  presented  to 
him  as  facts.  This  moan  conveyed  to  such  as  had  often 
heard  it,  not  only  strong  dissent,  but  pity  for  human 
credulity,  ignorance,  and  error,  especially,  of  course, 
when  it  blinded  men  to  the  merits  of  Pagandom. 

The  friar  moaned,  and  said,  "  Then  come  away." 

"  Nay,  father,  prithee !  prithee  !  I  ne'er  saw  a  divell 
cast  out." 

The  friar  accompanied  Gerard  into  the  church,  but  had 
a  good  shrug  first.  There  they  found  the  demoniac 
forced  down  on  his  knees  before  the  altar  with  a  scarf 
tied  round  his  neck,  by  which  the  officiating  priest  held 
him  like  a  dog  in  a  chain. 

Not  many  persons  were  present,  for  fame  had  put 
forth  that  the  last  demon  cast  out  in  that  church  went 
no  farther  than  into  one  of  the  company :  "as  a  cony 
ferreted  out  of  one  burrow  runs  to  the  next." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  147 


When  Gerard  and  the  friar  came  up,  the  priest  seemed 
to  think  there  were  now  spectators  enough,  and  began. 

He  faced  the  demoniac,  breviary  in  hand,  and  first  set 
himself  to  learn  the  individual's  name  with  whom  he 
had  to  deal. 

"  Come  out,  Ashtaroth.  Oho !  it  is  not  you,  then. 
Come  out,  Belial.  Come  out,  Tatzi.  Come  out,  Eza. 
No,  he  trembles  not.  Come  out,  Azymoth.  Come  out, 
Feriander.  Come  out,  Foletho.  Come  out,  Astyma. 
Come  out,  Nebul.  Aha !  what,  have  I  found  ye  ?  'tis 
thou,  thou  reptile,  at  thine  old  tricks.    Let  us  pray  !  — 

"  0  Lord,  we  pray  thee  to  drive  the  foul  fiend  Nebul 
out  of  this  thy  creature :  out  of  his  hair,  and  his  eyes, 
out  of  his  nose,  out  of  his  mouth,  out  of  his  ears,  out  of 
his  gums,  out  of  his  teeth,  out  of  his  shoulders,  out  of 
his  arms,  legs,  loins,  stomach,  bowels,  thighs,  knees, 
calves,  feet,  ankles,  finger-nails,  toe-nails,  and  soul. 
Amen." 

The  priest  then  rose  from  his  knees,  and  turning  to 
the  company  said,  with  quiet  geniality,  "Gentles,  we 
have  here  as  obstinate  a  divell  as  you  may  see  in  a 
summer  day."  Then,  facing  the  patient,  he  spoke  to 
him  with  great  rigor,  sometimes  addressing  the  man,  and 
sometimes  the  fiend,  and  they  answered  him  in  turn 
through  the  same  mouth,  now  saying  that  they  hated 
those  holy  names  the  priest  kept  uttering,  and  now  com- 
plaining they  did  feel  so  bad  in  their  inside. 

It  was  the  priest  who  first  confounded  the  victim  and 
the  culprit  in  idea,  by  pitching  into  the  former,  cuffing 
him  soundly,  kicking  him,  and  spitting  repeatedly  in  his 
face.  Then  he  took  a  candle  and  lighted  it,  and  turned 
it  down,  and  burned  it  till  it  burned  his  fingers,  when  he 
dropped  it  double-quick.  Then  took  the  custodial,  and 
showed  the  patient  the  Corpus  Domini  within.  Then 
burned  another  candle  as  before,  but  more  cautiously ; 


148  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


then  spoke  civilly  to  the  demoniac  in  his  human  char- 
acter, dismissed  him,  and  received  the  compliments  of 
the  company. 

"Good  father/'  said  Gerard,  "how  you  have  their 
names  by  heart.  Our  northern  priests  have  no  such 
exquisite  knowledge  of  the  hellish  squadrons." 

"Ay,  young  man,  here  we  know  all  their  names,  and 
eke  their  ways,  the  reptiles.  This  Nebul  is  a  bitter 
hard  one  to  hunt  out." 

He  then  told  the  company  in  the  most  affable  way 
several  of  his  experiences,  concluding  with  his  feat  of 
yesterday,  when  he  drove  a  great  hulking  fiend  out  of  a 
woman  by  her  mouth,  leaving  behind  him  certain  nails, 
and  pins,  and  a  tuft  of  his  own  hair,  and  cried  out  in  a 
voice  of  anguish,  "  'Tis  not  thou  that  conquers  me.  See 
that  stone  on  the  window-sill.  Know  that  the  angel 
Gabriel  coming  down  to  earth  once  lighted  on  that  stone ; 
'tis  that  has  done  my  business." 

The  friar  moaned.    "  And  you  believed  him  ?  " 

"  Certes !  who,  but  an  infidel,  had  discredited  a  revela- 
tion so  precise  ?  " 

"  What,  believe  the  father  of  lies  ?  That  is  pushing 
credulity  beyond  the  age." 

"  Oh,  a  liar  does  not  always  lie." 

"  Ay  doth  he,  whenever  he  tells  an  improbable  story 
to  begin,  and  shows  you  a  holy  relic ;  arms  you  against 
the  satanic  host.  Fiends  (if  any)  be  not  so  simple. 
Shouldst  have  answered  him  out  of  antiquity,  — 

'  Timeo  Danaos  et  dona  f  erentes.1 

Some  blackguard  chopped  his  wife's  head  off  on  that 
stone,  young  man ;  you  take  my  word  for  it."  And  the 
friar  hurried  Gerard  away. 

"Alack,  father,  I  fear  you  abashed  the  good  priest." 

"  Ay,  by  Pollux,"  said  the  friar,  with  a  chuckle  j  "  I 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  149 


blistered  him  with  a  single  touch  of  'Socratic  inter- 
rogation.' What  modern  can  parry  the  weapons  of 
antiquity  ?  " 

One  afternoon,  when  Gerard  had  finished  his  day's 
work,  a  fine  lackey  came  and  demanded  his  attendance 
at  the  palace  Cesarini.  He  went,  and  was  ushered  into 
a  noble  apartment ;  there  was  a  girl  seated  in  it,  working 
on  a  tapestry.  She  rose  and  left  the  room,  and  said  she 
would  let  her  mistress  know. 

A  good  hour  did  Gerard  cool  his  heels  in  that  great 
room,  and  at  last  he  began  to  fret.  "  These  nobles  think 
nothing  of  a  poor  fellow's  time."  However,  just  as  he 
was  making  up  his  mind  to  slip  out,  and  go  about  his 
business,  the  door  opened,  and  a  superb  beauty  entered 
the  room,  folloAved  by  two  maids.  It  was  the  young 
princess  of  the  house  of  Cesarini.  She  came  in  talking 
rather  loudly  and  haughtily  to  her  dependents,  but  at 
sight  of  Gerard  lowered  her  voice  to  a  very  feminine 
tone,  and  said,  "  Are  you  the  writer,  messer  ?  " 

"I  am,  signora." 

"  'Tis  well."  She  then  seated  herself ;  Gerard  and  her 
maids  remained  standing. 

"  What  is  your  name,  good  youth  ?  " 
"Gerard,  signora." 

"  Gerard  ?  body  of  Bacchus !  is  that  the  name  of  a 
human  creature  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  Dutch  name,  signora.  .  I  was  born  at  Tergou, 
in  Holland." 

"A  harsh  name,  girls,  for  so  well-favored  a  youth; 
what  say  you  ?  " 

The  maids  assented  warmly. 

"  What  did  I  send  for  him  for  ?  "  inquired  the  lady, 
with  lofty  languor.  "  Ah,  I  remember.  Be  seated,  Ser 
Gerardo,  and  write  me  a  letter  to  Ercole  Orsini,  my 
lover  5  at  least  he  says  so." 


150  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


Gerard  seated  himself,  took  out  paper  and  ink,  and 
looked  up  to  the  princess  for  instructions. 

She,  seated  on  a  much  higher  chair,  almost  a  throne, 
looked  down  at  him  with  eyes  equally  inquiring. 

"Well,  Gerardo?" 

"  I  am  ready,  your  excellence." 

"Write,  then." 

"  I  but  await  the  words." 

"And  who,  think  you,  is  to  provide  them?" 

"  Who  but  your  grace,  whose  letter  it  is  to  be  ?  " 

"Gramercy !  what,  you  writers,  find  you  not  the  words  ? 
What  avails  your  art  without  the  words  ?  I  doubt  you 
are  an  impostor,  Gerardo." 

"  Nay,  signora,  I  am  none.  I  might  make  shift  to  put 
your  highness's  speech  into  grammar,  as  well  as  writing, 
but  I  cannot  interpret  your  silence.  Therefore,  speak 
what  is  in  your  heart,  and  I  will  empaper  it  before  your 
eyes." 

"  But  there  is  nothing  in  my  heart.  And  sometimes  I 
think  I  have  got  no  heart." 

"  What  is  in  your  mind,  then  ?  " 

"  But  there  is  nothing  in  my  mind ;  nor  my  head 
neither." 

"  Then  why  write  at  all  ?  " 

"  Why,  indeed  ?  That  is  the  first  word  of  sense  either 
you  or  I  have  spoken,  Gerardo.  Pestilence  seize  him  ! 
why  writeth  he  not  first  ?  then  I  could  say  nay  to  this, 
and  ay  to  that,  withouten  headache.  Also,  is  it  a  lady's 
part  to  say  the  first  word  ?  " 

"No,  signora;  the  last." 

"  It  is  well  spoken,  Gerardo.  Ha  !  ha  !  Shalt  have  a 
gold  piece  for  thy  wit.  Give  me  my  purse  !  "  And  she 
paid  him  for  the  article  on  the  nail  a  la  moyen  age. 
Money  never  yet  chilled  zeal.  Gerard,  after  getting  a 
gold  piece  so  cheap,  felt  bound  to  pull  her  out  of  her 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  151 


difficulty  ;  if  the  wit  of  man  might  achieve  it.    "  Signo- 
rina,"  said  he,  "  these  things  are  only  hard  because  folk 
attempt  too  much  ;  are  artificial,  and  labor  phrases.  Do 
but  figure  to  yourself  the  signor  you  love  "  — 
"  I  love  him  not." 

"  Well,  then,  the  signor  you  love  not  —  seated  at  this 
table,  and  diet  to  me  just  what  you  would  say  to  him." 

"  Well,  if  he  sat  there,  I  should  say,  1  Go  away.' " 

Gerard,  who  was  flourishing  his  pen  by  way  of  prepa- 
ration, laid  it  down  with  a  groan. 

"And  when  he  was  gone,"  said  Floretta,  "your  high- 
ness would  say,  '  Come  back.' " 

"Like  enough,  wench.  Now  silence,  all,  and  let  me 
think.  He  pestered  me  to  write,  and  I  promised ;  so 
mine  honor  is  engaged.  What  lie  shall  I  tell  the  Ge- 
rardo  to  tell  the  fool  ?  "  and  she  turned  her  head  away 
from  them  and  fell  into  deep  thought,  with  her  noble 
chin  resting  on  her  white  hand,  half  clenched. 

She  was  so  lovely  and  statuesque,  and  looked  so  inspired 
with  thoughts  celestial,  as  she  sat  thus,  impregnating  her- 
self with  mendacity,  that  Gerard  forgot  all,  except  art, 
and  proceeded  eagerly  to  transfer  that  exquisite  profile 
to  paper. 

He  had  very  nearly  finished  when  the  fair  statue  turned 
brusquely  round  and  looked  at  him. 

"Nay,  signora,"  said  he,  a  little  peevishly,  "for  heav- 
en's sake  change  not  your  posture  ;  'twas  perfect.  See, 
you  are  nearly  finished." 

All  eyes  were  instantly  on  the  work,  and  all  tongues 
active.  "  How  like !  and  done  in  a  minute  :  nay,  me- 
thinks  her  highness's  chin  is  not  quite  so  "  — 

"  Oh,  a  touch  will  make  that  right." 

"What  a  pity  'tis  not  colored.  I'm  all  for  colors. 
Hang  black  and  white  !  And  her  highness  hath  such  a 
lovely  skin.  Take  away  her  skin,  and  half  her  beauty 
is  lost." 


152  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  Peace.    Can  you  color,  Ser  Gerardo  ?  " 

"Ay,  signorina.  I  am  a  poor  hand  at  oils;  there  shines 
my  friend  Pietro  :  but  in  this  small  way  I  can  tint  you  to 
the  life,  if  you  have  time  to  waste  on  such  vanity." 

"  Call  you  this  vanity  ?  And  for  time,  it  hangs  on  me 
like  lead.  Send  for  your  colors  now,  —  quick,  this  mo- 
ment, —  for  love  of  all  the  saints." 

"  Nay,  signorina,  I  must  prepare  them.  I  could  come 
at  the  same  time  to-morrow." 

"  So  be  it.  And  you,  Floretta,  see  that  he  be  admitted 
at  all  hours.    Alack !    Leave  my  head !  leave  my  head ! " 

«  Forgive  me,  signora  ;  I  thought  to  prepare  it  at  home 
to  receive  the  colors.  But  I  will  leave  it.  And  now  let 
us  despatch  the  letter." 

"What  letter?" 

"  To  the  Signor  Orsini." 

"And  shall  I  waste  my  time  on  such  vanity  as  writing 
letters  —  and  to  that  empty  creature,  to  whom  I  am  as 
indifferent  as  the  moon  ?  Nay,  not  indifferent,  for  I 
have  just  discovered  my  real  sentiments.  I  hate  him 
and  despise  him.  Girls,  I  here  forbid  you  once  for  all 
to  mention  that  signor's  name  to  me  again;  else  Pll 
whip  you  till  the  blood  comes.  You  know  how  I  can  lay 
on  when  Pm  roused." 

"  We  do  ;  we  do." 

"  Then  provoke  me  not  to  it ; "  and  her  eye  flashed 
daggers,  and  she  turned  to  Gerard  all  instantaneous 
honey.  "Addio,  il  Gerar-do"  And  Gerard  bowed  him- 
self out  of  this  velvet  tiger's  den. 

He  came  next  day  and  colored  her ;  and  next  he  was 
set  to  make  a  portrait  of  her  on  a  large  scale  ;  and  then 
a  full-length  figure  ;  and  he  was  obliged  to  set  apart  two 
hours  in  the  afternoon  for  drawing  and  painting  this 
princess,  whose  beauty  and  vanity  were  prodigious,  and 
candidates  for  a  portrait  of  her  numerous.    Here  the 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  153 

thriving  Gerard  found  a  new  and  fruitful  source  of 
income. 

Margaret  seemed  nearer  and  nearer. 

It  was  Holy  Thursday.  No  work  this  day.  Fra 
Colonna  and  Gerard  sat  in  a  window  and  saw  the  reli- 
gious processions.  Their  number  and  pious  ardor  thrilled 
Gerard  with  the  devotion  that  now  seemed  to  animate 
the  whole  people,  lately  bent  on  earthly  joys. 

Presently  the  Pope  came  pacing  majestically  at  the 
head  of  his  cardinals,  in  a  red  hat,  white  cloak,  a  capu- 
chin of  red  velvet,  and  riding  a  lovely  white  Neapolitan 
barb,  caparisoned  with  red  velvet  fringed  and  tasselled 
with  gold ;  a  hundred  horsemen,  armed  cap-a-pie,  rode 
behind  him  with  their  lances  erected,  the  butt-end  resting 
on  the  man's  thigh.  The  cardinals  went  uncovered,  all 
but  one,  de  Medicis,  who  rode  close  to  the  Pope  and  con- 
versed with  him  as  with  an  equal.  At  every  fifteen  steps 
the  Pope  stopped  a  single  moment,  and  gave  the  people 
his  blessing,  then  on  again. 

Gerard  and  the  friar  now  came  down,  and,  threading 
some  by-streets,  reached  the  portico  of  one  of  the  seven 
churches.  It  was  hung  with  black,  and  soon  the  Pope 
and  cardinals,  who  had  entered  the  church  by  another 
door,  issued  forth,  and  stood  with  torches  on  the  steps, 
separated  by  barriers  from  the  people  ;  then  a  canon  read 
a  Latin  bull,  excommunicating  several  persons  by  name, 
especially  such  princes  as  were  keeping  the  Church  out 
of  any  of  her  temporal  possessions. 

At  this  awful  ceremony  Gerard  trembled,  and  so  did 
the  people.  But  two  of  the  cardinals  spoiled  the  effect 
by  laughing  unreservedly  the  whole  time. 

When  this  was  ended,  the  black  cloth  was  removed, 
and  revealed  a  gay  panoply  ;  and  the  Pope  blessed  the 
people,  and  ended  by  throwing  his  torch  among  them ; 


154  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

so  did  two  cardinals.  Instantly  there  was  a  scramble  for 
the  torches  :  they  were  fought  for,  and  torn  in  pieces  by 
the  candidates,  so  devoutly  that  small  fragments  were 
gained  at  the  price  of  black  eyes,  bloody  noses,  and 
burnt  fingers ;  in  which  hurtling  his  Holiness  and  suite 
withdrew  in  peace. 

And  now  there  was  a  cry,  and  the  crowd  rushed  to  a 
square  where  was  a  large,  open  stage  :  several  priests 
were  upon  it  praying.  They  rose,  and  with  great  cere- 
mony donned  red  gloves.  Then  one  of  their  number 
kneeled,  and  with  signs  of  the  lowest  reverence  drew 
forth  from  a  shrine  a  square  frame,  like  that  of  a  mirror, 
and  inside  was  as  it  were  the  impression  of  a  face. 

It  was  the  Vera  icon,  or  true  impression  of  our  Saviour's 
face,  taken  at  the  very  moment  of  his  most  mortal  agony 
for  us.  Keceived  as  it  was  without  a  grain  of  doubt, 
imagine  how  it  moved  every  Christian  heart. 

The  people  threw  themselves  on  their  faces  when  the 
priest  raised  it  on  high ;  and  cries  of  pity  were  in  every 
mouth,  and  tears  in  almost  every  eye.  After  a  while  the 
people  rose,  and  then  the  priests  went  round  the  plat- 
form, showing  it  for  a  single  moment  to  the  nearest ;  and 
at  each  sight  loud  cries  of  pity  and  devotion  burst  forth. 

Soon  after  this  the  friends  fell  in  with  a  procession  of 
Flagellants  flogging  their  bare  shoulders  till  the  blood 
ran  streaming  down ;  but  without  a  sign  of  pain  in  their 
faces,  and  many  of  them  laughing  and  jesting  as  they 
lashed.  The  bystanders  out  of  pity  offered  them  wine  ; 
they  took  it,  but  few  drank  it ;  they  generally  used  it  to 
free  the  tails  of  the  cat,  which  were  hard  with  clotted 
blood,  and  make  the  next  stroke  more  effective.  Most 
of  them  were  boys,  and  a  young  woman  took  pity  on  one 
fair  urchin.  "  Alas  !  dear  child,"  said  she,  "  why  wound 
thy  white  skin  so  ?  "  "Basta,"  said  he,  laughing,  "  'tis 
for  your  sins  I  do  it,  not  for  mine." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  155 


"Hear  you  that  ?  "  said  the  friar.  "  Show  me  the  whip 
that  can  whip  the  vanity  out  of  man's  heart !  The  young 
monkey  !  how  knoweth  he  that  stranger  is  a  sinner  more 
than  he  ?  " 

"  Father,"  said  Gerard,  "  surely  this  is  not  to  our  Lord's 
mind.    He  was  so  pitiful." 

"  Our  Lord  ?  "  said  the  friar,  crossing  himself.  "What 
has  He  to  do  with  this  ?  This  was  a  custom  in  Kome  six 
hundred  years  before  He  was  born.  The  boys  used  to  go 
through  the  streets  at  the  Lupercalia,  flogging  themselves. 
And  the  married  women  used  to  shove  in,  and  try  and  get 
a  blow  from  the  monkeys'  scourges  ;  for  these  blows  con- 
ferred fruitfulness  —  in  those  days.  A  foolish  trick  this 
flagellation,  but  interesting  to  the  bystander ;  reminds 
him  of  the  grand  old  heathen.  We  are  so  prone  to  for- 
get all  we  owe  them." 

Next  they  got  into  one  of  the  seven  churches,  and  saw 
the  Pope  give  the  mass.  The  ceremony  was  imposing, 
but  again  spoiled  by  the  inconsistent  conduct  of  the  car- 
dinals, and  other  prelates,  who  sat  about  the  altar  with 
their  hats  on,  chattering  all  through  the  mass  like  a  flock 
of  geese. 

The  eucharist  in  both  kinds  was  tasted  by  an  official 
before  the  Pope  would  venture  on  it :  and  this  surprised 
Gerard  beyond  measure.  "  Who  is  that  base  man  ?  and 
what  doth  he  there  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that  is  the  Preguste,  and  he  tastes  the  eucharist 
by  way  of  precaution.  This  is  the  country  for  poison ; 
and  none  fall  oftener  by  it  than  the  poor  Popes." 

"  Alas  !  so  I  have  heard ;  but  after  the  miraculous 
change  of  the  bread  and  wine  to  Christ  his  body  and 
blood,  poison  cannot  remain  ;  gone  is  the  bread  with  all 
its  properties  and  accidents  ;  gone  is  the  wine." 

"  So  says  faith ;  but  experience  tells  another  tale. 
Scores  have  died  in  Italy,  poisoned  in  the  host," 


156 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  And  I  tell  you,  father,  that  were  both  bread  and  wine 
charged  with  direst  poison  before  his  Holiness  had  con- 
secrated them,  yet  after  consecration  I  would  take  them 
both  withouten  fear." 

"  So  would  I,  but  for  the  fine  arts." 

"  What  mean  you  ?  " 

"  Marry,  that  I  would  be  as  ready  to  leave  the  world 
as  thou,  were  it  not  for  those  arts  which  beautify  exist- 
ence here  below,  and  make  it  dear  to  men  of  sense  and 
education.  No  :  so  long  as  the  Nine  Muses  strew  my 
path  with  roses  of  learning  and  art,  me  may  Apollo  inspire 
with  wisdom  and  caution,  that,  knowing  the  wiles  of  my 
countrymen,  I  may  eat  poison  neither  at  God's  altar 
nor  at  a  friend's  table,  since,  wherever  I  eat  it  or  drink 
it,  it  will  assuredly  cut  short  my  mortal  thread ;  and  I 
am  writing  a  book  —  heart  and  soul  in  it  —  'The  Dream 
of  Polifilo,'  the  man  of  many  arts.  So  name  not  poison 
to  me  till  that  is  finished  and  copied." 

And  now  the  great  bells  of  St.  John  Lateran's  were 
rung  with  a  clash  at  short  intervals,  and  the  people  hur- 
ried thither  to  see  the  heads  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul. 

Gerard  and  the  friar  got  a  good  place  in  the  church, 
and  there  was  a  great  curtain,  and,  after  long  and  breath- 
less expectation  of  the  people,  this  curtain  was  drawn  by 
jerks,  and  at  a  height  of  about  thirty  feet  were  two 
human  heads  with  bearded  faces,  that  seemed  alive. 
They  were  shown  no  longer  than  the  time  to  say  an 
Ave  Maria,  and  then  the  curtain  drawn.  But  they  were 
shown  in  this  fashion  three  times.  St.  Peter's  complex- 
ion was  pale,  his  face  oval,  his  beard  gray  and  forked ; 
his  head  crowned  with  a  papal  mitre.  St.  Paul  was  dark 
skinned,  with  a  thick,  square  beard ;  his  face  also  and 
head  were  more  square  and  massive,  and  full  of  resolution. 

Gerard  was  awe-struck.  The  friar  approved  after  his 
fashion. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  157 


"  This  exhibition  of  the  imagines,  or  waxen  effigies  of 
heroes  and  demigods,  is  a  venerable  custom,  and  inciteth 
the  vulgar  to  virtue  by  great  and  visible  examples." 

"  Waxen  images  ?  What,  are  they  not  the  apostles 
themselves,  embalmed,  or  the  like  ?  " 

The  friar  moaned. 

"  They  did  not  exist  in  the  year  800.  The  great  old 
Eoman  families  always  produced  at  their  funerals  a  series 
of  these  imagines,  thereby  tying  past  and  present  history 
together,  and  showing  the  populace  the  features  of  far- 
famed  worthies.  I  can  conceive  nothing  more  thrilling 
or  instructive.  But  then  the  effigies  were  portraits  made 
during  life  or  at  the  hour  of  death.  These  of  St.  Paul 
and  St.  Peter  are  moulded  out  of  pure  fancy." 

"  Ah !  say  not  so,  father." 

"  But  the  worst  is,  this  humor  of  showing  them  up  on 
a  shelf,  and  half  in  the  dark,  and  by  snatches,  and  with 
the  poor  mountebank  trick  of  a  drawn  curtain. 

'  Quodcunque  ostendis  mihi  sic  incredulus  odi.' 

Enough ;  the  men  of  this  day  are  not  the  men  of  old. 
Let  us  have  done  with  these  new-fangled  mummeries, 
and  go  among  the  Pope's  books  ;  there  we  shall  find  the 
wisdom  we  shall  vainly  hunt  in  the  streets  of  modern 
Eome." 

And,  this  idea  having  once  taken  root,  the  good  friar 
plunged  and  tore  through  the  crowd,  and  looked  neither 
to  the  right  hand  nor  to  the  left,  till  he  had  escaped  the 
glories  of  the  Holy  Week,  which  had  brought  fifty  thou- 
sand strangers  to  Borne;  and  had  got  nice  and  quiet 
among  the  dead  in  the  library  of  the  Vatican. 

Presently,  going  into  Gerard's  room,  he  found  a  hot 
dispute  afoot,  between  him  and  Jacques  Bonaventura. 
That  spark  had  come  in,  all  steel  from  head  to  toe; 
doffed  helmet;  puffed,  and  railed  most  scornfully  on  a 


158  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


ridiculous  ceremony,  at  which  he  and  his  soldiers  had 
been  compelled  to  attend  the  Pope  ;  to  wit,  the  blessing 
of  the  beasts  of  burden. 

Gerard  said  it  was  not  ridiculous  :  nothing  a  pope  did 
could  be  ridiculous. 

The  argument  grew  warm,  and  the  friar  stood  grimly 
neuter,  waiting  like  the  stork  that  ate  the  frog  and  the 
mouse  at  the  close  of  their  combat,  to  grind  them  both 
between  the  jaws  of  antiquity :  when  lo,  the  curtain  was 
gently  drawn,  and  there  stood  a  venerable  old  man  in  a 
purple  skull-cap,  with  a  beard  like  white  floss  silk,  look- 
ing at  them  with  a  kind  though  feeble  smile. 

"  Happy  youth,"  said  he,  "  that  can  heat  itself  over 
such  matters." 

They  all  fell  on  their  knees.    It  was  the  Pope. 

"Nay,  rise,  my  children,"  said  he,  almost  peevishly. 
"  I  came  not  into  this  corner  to  be  in  state.  How  goes 
Plutarch  ?  " 

Gerard  brought  his  work,  and  kneeling  on  one  knee 
presented  it  to  his  Holiness,  who  had  seated  himself,  the 
others  standing. 

His  Holiness  inspected  it  with  interest.  "'Tis  excel- 
lently writ,"  said  he. 

Gerard's  heart  beat  with  delight. 

"  Ah  !  this  Plutarch,  he  had  a  wondrous  art,  Francesco. 
How  each  character  standeth  out  alive  on  his  page :  how 
full  of  nature  each,  yet  how  unlike  his  fellow !  " 

Jacques  Bonaventura.  Give  me  the  Signor  Boccac- 
cio. 

His  Holiness.  An  excellent  narrator,  Capitano,  and 
writeth  exquisite  Italian.  But  in  spirit  a  thought  too 
monotonous.  Monks  and  nuns  were  never  all  unchaste  : 
one  or  two  such  stories  were  right  pleasant  and  diverting  ; 
but  five  score  paint  his  time  falsely,  and  sadden  the 
heart  of  such  as  love  mankind,    Moreover  he  hath  no 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEAKTH.  159 


skill  at  characters.  Now  this  Greek  is  supreme  in  that 
great  art :  he  carveth  them  with  pen :  and,  turning  his 
page,  see  into  how  real  and  great  a  world  we  enter  of 
war,  and  policy,  and  business,  and  love  in  its  own  place : 
for  with  him,  as  in  the  great  world,  men  are  not  all 
running  after  a  wench.  With  this  great  open  field  com- 
pare me  not  the  narrow  garden  of  Boccaccio,  and  his 
little  mill-round  of  dishonest  pleasures. 

"  Your  Holiness,  they  say,  hath  not  disdained  to  write 
a  novel." 

"  My  holiness  hath  done  more  foolish  things  than  one, 
whereof  it  repents  too  late.  When  I  wrote  novels  I  little 
thought  to  be  head  of  the  Church." 

61 1  search  in  vain  for  a  copy  of  it  to  add  to  my  poor 
library." 

"  It  is  well.  Then  the  strict  orders  I  gave  four  years 
ago  to  destroy  every  copy  in  Italy,  have  been  well  dis- 
charged. However,  for  your  comfort,  on  my  being  made 
Pope,  some  fool  turned  it  into  French  :  so  that  you  may 
read  it,  at  the  price  of  exile." 

"  Eeduced  to  this  strait  we  throw  ourselves  on  your 
Holiness's  generosity.  Vouchsafe  to  give  us  your  infalli- 
ble judgment  on  it." 

"  Gently,  gently,  good  Francesco.  A  pope's  novels  are 
not  matters  of  faith.  I  can  but  give  you  my  sincere 
impression.  Well,  then,  the  work  in  question  had,  as 
far  as  I  remember,  all  the  vices  of  Boccaccio,  without 
his  choice  Italian." 

Fra  Colonna.  Your  Holiness  is  known  for  slighting 
iEneas  Silvius  as  other  men  never  slighted  him.  I  did 
him  injustice  to  make  you  his  judge.  Perhaps  your 
Holiness  will  decide  more  justly  between  these  two  boys 
—  about  blessing  the  beasts. 

,  The  Pope  demurred.  In  speaking  of  Plutarch  he  had 
brightened  up  for  a  moment,  and  his  eye  had  even  flashed  j 


160  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


but  his  general  manner  was  as  unlike  what  youthful 
females  expect  in  a  Pope  as  you  can  conceive.  I  can 
only  describe  it  in  French.  Le  gentilhomme  blase.  A 
high-bred  and  highly  cultivated  gentleman,  who  had 
done  and  said  and  seen  and  known  everything,  and  whose 
body  was  nearly  worn  out.  But  double  languor  seemed 
to  seize  him  at  the  father's  proposal. 

"  My  poor  Francesco/'  said  he,  "  bethink  thee  that  I 
have  had  a  life  of  controversy,  and  am  sick  on't ;  sick  as 
death.  Plutarch  drew  me  to  this  calm  retreat :  not 
divinity." 

"  Nay,  but,  your  Holiness,  for  moderating  of  strife  be- 
tween two  hot  young  bloods. 

iManaqiov  ol  eiQ^vonoiov.1  " 

"  And  know  you  nature  so  ill,  as  to  think  either  of 
these  high-mettled  youths  will  reck  what  a  poor  old  Pope 
saith  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  your  Holiness,"  broke  in  Gerard,  blushing  and 
gasping,  "  sure,  here  is  one  who  will  treasure  your  words 
all  his  life  as  words  from  heaven." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  the  Pope,  "  I  am  fairly  caught. 
As  Francesco  here  would  say,  — 

'  ovx  soiiv  o<m£  ecrx'  avrjQ  elevdegog.' 

I  came  to  taste  that  eloquent  heathen,  dear  to  me  e'en 
as  to  thee,  thou  Paynim  monk ;  and  I  must  talk  divinity, 
or  something  next  door  to  it.  But  the  youth  hath  a 
good  and  a  winning  face,  and  writeth  Greek  like  an 
angel.  Well,  then,  my  children,  to  comprehend  the 
ways  of  the  Church,  we  should  still  rise  a  little  above 
the  earth,  since  the  Church  is  between  heaven  and  earth, 
and  interprets  betwixt  them. 

"The  question  is  then,  not  how  vulgar  men  feel,  but 
how  the  common  Creator  of  man  and  beast  doth  feel, 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  161 


towards  the  lower  animals.  This,  if  we  are  too  proud  to 
search  for  it  in  the  lessons  of  the  Church,  the  next  best 
thing  is  to  go  to  the  most  ancient  history  of  men  and 
animals." 

Colonna.  Herodotus. 

"  Nay,  nay ;  in  this  matter  Herodotus  is  but  a  mush- 
room. Finely  were  we  sped  for  ancient  history,  if  we 
depended  on  your  Greeks,  who  did  but  write  on  the  last 
leaf  of  that  great  book,  Antiquity." 

The  friar  groaned.  Here  was  a  pope  uttering  heresy 
against  his  demigods. 

"  'Tis  the  Vulgate  I  speak  of.  A  history  that  handles 
matters  three  thousand  years  before  him  pedants  call 
1  the  Father  of  History.'  " 

Colonna.  Oh  !  the  Vulgate  ?  I  cry  your  Holiness 
mercy.  How  you  frightened  me.  I  quite  forgot  the 
Vulgate. 

"  Forgot  it  ?  art  sure  thou  ever  readst  it,  Francesco 
mio  ?  " 

"  Not  quite,  your  Holiness.  'Tis  a  pleasure  I  have  long 
promised  myself,  the  first  vacant  moment.  Hitherto 
these  grand  old  heathen  have  left  me  small  time  for 
recreation." 

His  Holiness.  First  then  you  will  find  in  Genesis 
that  God,  having  created  the  animals,  drew  a  holy  pleas- 
ure, undefinable  by  us,  from  contemplating  of  their 
beauty.  Was  it  wonderful  ?  See  their  myriad  forms  ; 
their  lovely  hair,  and  eyes,  their  grace,  and  of  some  the 
power  and  majesty  :  the  color  of  others,  brighter  than 
roses  or  rubies.  And  when,  for  man's  sin,  not  their  own, 
they  were  destroyed,  yet  were  two  of  each  kind  spared. 

"  And  when  the  ark  and  its  trembling  inmates  tumbled 
solitary  on  the  world  of  water,  then,  saith  the  Word, 
'God  remembered  Noah,  and  the  cattle  that  were  with 
him  in  the  ark.' 


162  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  Thereafter  God  did  write  His  rainbow  in  the  sky  as 
a  bond  that  earth  should  be  flooded  no  more ;  and  be- 
tween whom  the  bond  ?  between  God  and  man  ?  nay : 
between  God  and  man,  and  every  living  creature  of  all 
flesh  ;  or  my  memory  fails  me  with  age.  In  Exodus 
God  commanded  that  the  cattle  should  share  the  sweet 
blessing  of  the  one  day's  rest.  Moreover  He  forbade  to 
muzzle  the  ox  that  trod  out  the  corn.  '  Nay,  let  the  poor 
overwrought  soul  snatch  a  mouthful  as  he  goes  his  toil- 
some round  :  the  bulk  of  the  grain  shall  still  be  for  man.' 
Ye  will  object  perchance  that  St.  Paul,  commenting  this, 
saith  rudely,  '  Doth  God  care  for  oxen  ? '  Verily,  had  I 
been  Peter,  instead  of  the  humblest  of  his  successors,  I 
had  answered  him:  'Drop  thy  theatrical  poets,  Paul, 
and  read  the  Scriptures  :  then  shalt  thou  know  whether 
God  careth  only  for  men  and  sparrows,  or  for  all  His 
creatures.  0  Paul,'  had  I  made  bold  to  say,  '  think  not 
to  learn  God  by  looking  into  Paul's  heart,  nor  any  heart 
of  man,  but  study  that  which  He  hath  revealed  concern- 
ing Himself.' 

"  Thrice  he  forbade  the  Jews  to  boil  the  kid  in  his 
mother's  milk;  not  that  this  is  cruelty,  but  want  of 
thought  and  gentle  sentiments,  and  so  paves  the  way  for 
downright  cruelty.  A  prophet  riding  on  an  ass  did  meet 
an  angel.  Which  of  these  two,  Paulo  judice,  had  seen 
the  heavenly  spirit  ?  marry,  the  prophet.  But  it  was 
not  so.  The  man,  his  vision  cloyed  with  sin,  saw  nought. 
The  poor  despised  creature  saw  all.  Nor  is  this  recorded 
as  miraculous.  Poor  proud  things,  we  overrate  ourselves. 
The  angel  had  slain  the  prophet  and  spared  the  ass,  but 
for  that  creature's  clearer  vision  of  essences  divine.  He 
said  so,  methinks.  But  in  sooth  I  read  it  many  years 
agone.  Why  did  God  spare  repentant  Nineveh?  Be- 
cause in  that  city  were  sixty  thousand  children,  besides 
much  cattle. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  1C>3 

"Profane  history  and  vulgar  experience  add  their  mite 
of  witness.  The  cruel  to  animals  end  in  cruelty  to  man ; 
and  strange  and  violent  deaths,  marked  with  retribution's 
bloody  finger,  have  in  all  ages  fallen  from  heaven  on  such 
as  wantonly  harm  innocent  beasts.  This  I  myself  have 
seen.  All  this  duly  weighed,  and  seeing  that  despite 
this  Francesco's  friends,  the  Stoics,  who  in  their  vanity 
say  the  creatures  all  subsist  for  man's  comfort,  there  be 
snakes  and  scorpions  which  kill  i  Dominum  terrce '  with 
a  nip,  mosquitoes  which  eat  him  piecemeal,  and  tigers 
and  sharks  which  crack  him  like  an  almond,  we  do  well 
to  be  grateful  to  these  true,  faithful,  patient,  four-footed 
friends,  which,  in  lieu  of  powdering  us,  put  forth  their 
strength  to  relieve  our  toils,  and  do  feed  us  like  mothers 
from  their  gentle  dugs. 

"  Methinks  then  the  Church  is  never  more  divine  than 
in  this  benediction  of  our  four-footed  friends,  which  has 
revolted  yon  great  theological  authority,  the  captain  of 
the  Pope's  guards  ;  since  here  she  inculcates  humility 
and  gratitude,  and  rises  towards  the  level  of  the  mind 
divine,  and  interprets  God  to  man,  God  the  creator, 
parent,  and  friend  of  man  and  beast. 

"But  all  this,  young  gentles,  you  will  please  to  re- 
ceive, not  as  delivered  by  the  Pope  ex  cathedra,  but 
uttered  carelessly,  in  a  free  hour,  by  an  aged  clergyman. 
On  that  score  you  will  perhaps  do  well  to  entertain  it 
with  some  little  consideration.  For  old  age  must  surely 
bring  a  man  somewhat,  in  return  for  his  digestion  (his 
dura  puerorum  ilia,  eh,  Francesco  ?),  which  it  carries 
away." 

Such  was  the  purport  of  the  Pope's  discourse :  but  the 
manner  high-bred,  languid,  kindly,  and  free  from  all  tone 
of  dictation.  He  seemed  to  be  gently  probing  the  matter 
in  concert  with  his  hearers,  not  playing  Sir  Oracle.  At 
the  bottom  of  all  which  was  doubtless  a  slight  touch  of 


164  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


humbug,  but  the  humbug  that  embellishes  life ;  and  all 
sense  of  it  was  lost  in  the  subtle  Italian  grace  of  the 
thing. 

"I  seem  to  hear  the  oracle  of  Delphi/'  said  Fra  Colonna, 
enthusiastically. 

"  I  call  that  good  sense,"  shouted  Jacques  Bonaventura. 

"  Oh,  captain,  good  sense ! "  said  Gerard,  with  a  deep 
and  tender  reproach. 

The  Pope  smiled  on  Gerard.  "  Cavil  not  at  words  ;  that 
was  an  unheard-of  concession  from  a  rival  theologian." 

He  then  asked  for  all  Gerard's  work,  and  took  it  away 
in  his  hand.  But,  before  going,  he  gently  pulled  Fra 
Colonna's  ear,  and  asked  him  whether  he  remembered 
when  they  were  schoolfellows  together,  and  robbed  the 
Virgin  by  the  roadside  of  the  money  dropped  into  her 
box.  "  You  took  a  flat  stick  and  applied  bird-lime  to 
the  top,  and  drew  the  money  out  through  the  chink,  you 
rogue,"  said  his  Holiness,  severely. 

"  To  every  signor  his  own  honor,"  replied  Fra  Colonna. 
"  It  was  your  Holiness's  good  wit  invented  the  manoeuvre. 
I  was  but  the  humble  instrument." 

"  It  is  well.    Doubtless  you  know  'twas  sacrilege." 

"  Of  the  first  water ;  but  I  did  it  in  such  good  com- 
pany, it  troubles  me  not." 

"  Humph  !  I  have  not  even  that  poor  consolation. 
What  did  we  spend  it  in,  dost  mind  ?  " 

"  Can  your  Holiness  ask  ?  why,  sugar-plums." 

"  What,  all  on't  ?  " 

"  Every  doit." 

"  These  are  delightful  reminiscences,  my  Francesco. 
Alas  !  I  am  getting  old.  I  shall  not  be  here  long ;  and 
I  am  sorry  for  it  for  thy  sake.  They  will  go  and  burn 
thee  when  I  am  gone ;  art  far  more  a  heretic  than  Huss, 
whom  I  saw  burned  with  these  eyes ;  and  oh,  he  died 
like  a  martyr  ! " 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  165 


"  Ay,  your  Holiness  j  but  I  believe  in  the  Pope,  and 
Huss  did  not." 

"  Fox  !  They  will  not  burn  thee :  wood  is  too  dear. 
Adieu,  old  playmate  ;  adieu,  young  gentlemen ;  an  old 
man's  blessing  be  on  you." 

That  afternoon  the  Pope's  secretary  brought  Gerard  a 
little  bag :  in  it  were  several  gold  pieces. 

He  added  them  to  his  store. 

Margaret  seemed  nearer  and  nearer. 

For  some  time  past,  too,  it  appeared  as  if  the  fairies 
had  watched  over  him.  Baskets  of  choice  provisions 
and  fruits  were  brought  to  his  door  by  porters,  who  knew 
not  who  had  employed  them,  or  affected  ignorance  ;  and 
one  day  came  a  jewel  in  a  letter,  but  no  words. 

At  this  point  the  suspicions  of  his  landlady  broke  out. 
"This  is  none  of  thy  patrons,  silly  boy:  this  is  some 
lady  that  hath  fallen  in  love  with  thy  sweet  face.  Marry, 
I  blame  her  not." 


166  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

The  Princess  Claelia  ordered  a  full-length  portrait  of 
herself.  Gerard  advised  her  to  employ  his  friend  Pietro 
Vanucci. 

But  she  declined.  "  'Twill  be  time  to  put  a  slight  on  the 
Gerardo  when  his  work  discontents  me."  Then  Gerard, 
who  knew  he  was  an  excellent  draughtsman,  but  not  so 
good  a  colorist,  begged  her  to  stand  to  him  as  a  Roman 
statue.  He  showed  her  how  closely  he  could  mimic 
marble  on  paper.  She  consented  at  first,  but  demurred 
when  this  enthusiast  explained  to  her  that  she  must 
wear  the  tunic,  toga,  and  sandals  of  the  ancients. 

"  Why,  I  had  as  lieve  be  presented  in  my  smock," 
said  she  with  mediseval  frankness. 

"  Alack !  signorina,"  said  Gerard,  "  you  have  surely 
never  noted  the  ancient  habit,  so  free,  so  ample,  so  sim- 
ple, yet  so  noble ;  and  most  becoming  your  highness,  to 
whom  Heaven  hath  given  the  Roman  features,  and  eke 
a  shapely  arm  and  hand,  hid  in  modern  guise." 

"  What,  can  you  natter,  like  the  rest,  Gerardo  ?  Well, 
give  me  time  to  think  on't.  Come  o'  Saturday,  and  then 
I  will  say  ay  or  nay." 

The  respite  thus  gained  was  passed  in  making  the 
tunic  and  toga,  etc.,  and  trying  them  on  in  her  chamber 
to  see  whether  they  suited  her  style  of  beauty  well 
enough  to  compensate  their  being  a  thousand  years  out 
of  date. 

Gerard,  hurrying  along  to  this  interview,  was  suddenly 
arrested  and  rooted  to  earth  at  a  shop-window. 

His  quick  eye  had  discerned  in  that  window  a  copy  of 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  167 


Lactantius,  lying  open.  "  That  is  fairly  writ,  any  way," 
thought  he. 

He  eyed  it  a  moment  more  with  all  his  eyes. 

It  was  not  written  at  all.    It  was  printed. 

Gerard  groaned.  "  I  am  sped :  mine  enemy  is  at  the 
door.    The  press  is  in  Rome." 

He  went  into  the  shop,  and,  affecting  nonchalance,  in- 
quired how  long  the  printing-press  had  been  in  Rome. 
The  man  said  he  believed  there  was  no  such  thing  in  the 
city.  "  Oh,  the  Lactantius  ;  that  was  printed  on  the  top 
of  the  Apennines." 

"  What,  did  the  printing-press  fall  down  there  out  o' 
the  moon  ?  " 

"  Nay,  messer,"  said  the  trader  laughing,  "  it  shot  up 
there  out  of  Germany.    See  the  title-page." 

Gerard  took  the  Lactantius  eagerly,  and  saw  the  fol- 
lowing :  — 

Operd  et  impenszs  Sweynheim  et  Pannartz 
Alumnorum  Joannis  Fust. 
Impressum  Subiacis.    a.d.  1465. 

"  Will  ye  buy,  messer  ?  See  how  fair  and  even  be  the 
letters.  Few  are  left  can  write  like  that ;  and  scarce  a 
quarter  of  the  price." 

"  I  would  fain  have  it,"  said  Gerard  sadly,  "  but  my 
heart  will  not  let  me.  Know  that  I  am  a  calligraph,  and 
these  disciples  of  Fust  run  after  me  round  the  world 
a-taking  the  bread  out  of  my  mouth.  But  I  wish  them 
no  ill.  Heaven  forbid ! "  And  he  hurried  from  the 
shop. 

"  Dear  Margaret,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  we  must  lose 
no  time :  we  must  make  our  hay  while  shines  the  sun. 
One  month  more,  and  an  avalanche  of  printer's  type 
shall  roll  down  on  Rome  from  those  Apennines,  and  lay 
us  waste  that  writers  be." 


168  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


And  lie  almost  ran  to  the  Princess  Clselia. 

He  was  ushered  into  an  apartment  new  to  him.  It 
was  not  very  large,  but  most  luxurious ;  a  fountain 
played  in  the  centre,  and  the  floor  was  covered  with  the 
skins  of  panthers,  dressed  with  the  hair,  so  that  no  foot- 
fall could  be  heard.  The  room  was  an  antechamber  to 
the  princess's  boudoir,  for  on  one  side  there  was  no  door, 
but  an  ample  curtain  of  gorgeous  tapestry. 

Here  Gerard  was  left  alone  till  he  became  quite  uneasy, 
and  doubted  whether  the  maid  had  not  shown  him  to 
the  wrong  place. 

These  doubts  were  agreeably  dissipated. 

A  light  step  came  swiftly  behind  the  curtain :  it 
parted  in  the  middle,  and  there  stood  a  figure  the  hea- 
thens might  have  worshipped.  It  was  not  quite  Venus, 
nor  quite  Minerva,  but  between  the  two ;  nobler  than 
Venus,  more  womanly  than  Jupiter's  daughter.  Toga, 
tunic,  sandals ;  nothing  was  modern.  And  as  for 
beauty,  that  is  of  all  times. 

Gerard  started  up,  and  all  the  artist  in  him  flushed 
with  pleasure. 

"  Oh  ! "  he  cried,  innocently,  and  gazed  in  rapture. 

This  added  the  last  charm  to  his  model ;  a  light  blush 
tinted  her  cheek,  and  her  eyes  brightened,  and  her  mouth 
smiled  with  delicious  complacency  at  this  genuine  trib- 
ute to  her  charms. 

When  they  had  looked  at  one  another  so  some  time, 
and  she  saw  Gerard's  eloquence  was  confined  to  ejaculat- 
ing and  gazing,  she  spoke.  "  Well,  Gerardo,  thou  seest 
I  have  made  myself  an  antique  monster  for  thee." 

"  A  monster  ?  I  doubt  Fra  Colonna  would  fall  down 
and  adore  your  highness,  seeing  you  so  habited." 

"  Nay,  I  care  not  to  be  adored  by  an  old  man.  I  would 
liever  be  loved  by  a  young  one ;  of  my  own  choosing." 

Gerard  took  out  his   pencils,  arranged  his  canvas, 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  169 


which,  he  had  covered  with  stout  paper,  and  set  to  work ; 
and  so  absorbed  was  he  that  he  had  no  mercy  on  his 
model.  At  last,  after  near  an  hour  in  one  posture, 
"  Gerardo,"  said  she,  faintly,  "  I  can  stand  so  no  more, 
even  for  thee." 

"  Sit  down  and  rest  awhile,  signora." 

"  I  thank  thee,"  said  she ;  and  sinking  into  a  chair 
turned  pale  and  sighed. 

Gerard  was  alarmed,  and  saw  also  he  had  been  incon- 
siderate. He  took  water  from  the  fountain,  and  was 
about  to  throw  it  in  her  face ;  but  she  put  up  a  white 
hand  deprecatingly :  "  Nay,  hold  it  to  my  brow  with 
thine  hand :  prithee,  do  not  fling  it  at  me  ! " 

Gerard  timidly  and  hesitating  applied  his  wet  hand  to 
her  brow. 

"  Ah  !  "  she  sighed,  "  that  is  reviving.  Again." 

He  applied  it  again.  She  thanked  him,  and  asked 
him  to  ring  a  little  hand-bell  on  the  table.  He  did  so, 
and  a  maid  came,  and  was  sent  to  Floretta  with  orders  to 
bring  a  large  fan. 

Floretta  speedily  came  with  the  fan. 

She  no  sooner  came  near  the  princess,  than  that  lady's 
high-bred  nostrils  suddenly  expanded  like  a  blood  horse's, 
"  Wretch ! "  said  she  ;  and  rising  up  with  a  sudden  return 
to  vigor,  seized  Floretta  with  her  left  hand,  twisted  it  in 
her  hair,  and  with  the  right  hand  boxed  her  ears  severely 
three  times. 

Floretta  screamed  and  blubbered ;  but  obtained  no 
mercy. 

The  antique  toga  left  quite  disengaged  a  bare  arm, 
that  now  seemed  as  powerful  as  it  was  beautiful ;  it  rose 
and  fell  like  the  piston  of  a  modern  steam-engine,  and 
heavy  slaps  resounded  one  after  another  on  Floretta's 
shoulders  ;  the  last  one  drove  her  sobbing  and  scream- 
ing through  the  curtain,  and  there  she  was  heard  crying 
bitterly  for  some  time  after. 


170  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  Saints  of  heaven  !  "  cried  Gerard,  "  what  is  amiss  ? 
what  hath  she  done  ?  " 

"  She  knows  right  well.  'Tis  not  the  first  time.  The 
nasty  toad  !  I'll  learn  her  to  come  to  me  stinking  of  the 
musk-cat." 

"  Alas  !  signora,  'twas  a  small  fault  methinks." 

"A  small  fault?  Nay,  'twas  a  foul  fault."  She 
added  with  an  amazing  sudden  descent  to  humility  and 
sweetness,  "Are  you  wroth  with  me  for  beating  her, 
Gerar-do  ?  " 

"Signora,  it  ill  becomes  me  to  school  you;  but  me- 
thinks such  as  Heaven  appoints  to  govern  others  should 
govern  themselves." 

"  That  is  true,  Gerardo.  How  wise  you  are,  to  be  so 
young."  She  then  called  the  other  maid,  and  gave  her  a 
little  purse.  "Take  that  to  Floretta,  and  tell  her  'the 
Gerardo '  hath  interceded  for  her ;  and  so  I  must  needs 
forgive  her.    There,  Gerardo." 

Gerard  colored  all  over  at  the  compliment ;  but  not 
knowing  how  to  turn  a  phrase  equal  to  the  occasion, 
asked  her  if  he  should  resume  her  picture. 

"Not  yet;  beating  that  hussy  hath  somewhat  breathed 
me.  I'll  sit  awhile,  and  you  shall  talk  to  me.  I  know 
you  can  talk,  an  it  pleases  you,  as  rarely  as  you  draw." 

"  That  were  easily  done." 

"Do  it  then,  Gerardo." 

Gerard  was  taken  aback. 

"But,  signora,  I  know  not  what  to  say.  This  is 
sudden." 

"  Say  your  real  mind.  Say  you  wish  you  were  any- 
where but  here." 

"  Nay,  signora,  that  would  not  be  sooth.  I  wish  one 
thing  though." 

"  Ay,  and  what  is  that  ?  "  said  she,  gently. 

"  I  wish  I  could  have  drawn  you  as  you  were  beating 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  171 


that  poor  lass.  You  were  awful,  yet  lovely.  Oh,  what 
a  subject  for  a  Pythoness  !  " 

"  Alas  !  he  thinks  but  of  his  art.  And  why  keep  such 
a  coil  about  my  beauty,  Gerardo  ?  You  are  far  fairer 
than  I  am.  You  are  more  like  Apollo  than  I  to  Yenus. 
Also,  you  have  lovely  hair,  and  lovely  eyes  —  but  you 
know  not  what  to  do  with  them." 

"  Ay,  do  I.    To  draw  you,  signora." 

"  Ah,  yes  ;  you  can  see  my  features  with  them  ;  but 
you  cannot  see  what  any  Roman  gallant  had  seen  long 
ago  in  your  place.  Yet  sure  you  must  have  noted  how 
welcome  you  are  to  me,  Gerardo  ?  " 

"I  can  see  your  highness  is  always  passing  kind  to 
me ;  a  poor  stranger  like  me." 

"No,  I  am  not,  Gerardo.  I  have  often  been  cold  to 
you ;  rude  sometimes  ;  and  you  are  so  simple  you  see 
not  the  cause.  Alas  !  I  feared  for  my  own  heart.  I 
feared  to  be  your  slave.  I  who  have  hitherto  made 
slaves.  Ah  !  Gerardo,  I  am  unhappy.  Ever  since  you 
came  here  I  have  lived  upon  your  visits.  The  day  you 
are  to  come,  I  am  bright.  The  other  days  I  am  listless, 
and  wish  them  fled.  You  are  not  like  the  Roman  gal- 
lants. You  make  me  hate  them.  You  are  ten  times 
braver  to  my  eye  :  and  you  are  wise  and  scholarly,  and 
never  flatter  and  lie.  I  scorn  a  man  that  lies.  Gerar-do, 
teach  me  thy  magic;  teach  me  to  make  thee  as  happy  by 
my  side  as  I  am  still  by  thine." 

As  she  poured  out  these  strange  words,  the  princess's 
mellow  voice  sunk  almost  to  a  whisper,  and  trembled 
with  half-suppressed  passion,  and  her  white  hand  stole 
timidly  yet  earnestly  down  Gerard's  arm,  till  it  rested 
like  a  soft  bird  upon  his  wrist,  and  as  ready  to  fly  away 
at  a  word. 

Destitute  of  vanity  and  experience,  wrapped  up  in  his 
Margaret  and  his  art,  Gerard  had  not  seen  this  revela* 


172  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


tion  coming,  though  it  had  come  by  regular  and  visible 
gradations. 

He  blushed  all  over.  His  innocent  admiration  of  the 
regal  beauty  that  besieged  him,  did  not  for  a  moment 
displace  the  absent  Margaret's  image.  Yet  it  was  regal 
beauty,  and  wooing  with  a  grace  and  tenderness  he  had 
never  even  figured  in  imagination.  How  to  check  her 
without  wounding  her  ? 

He  blushed  and  trembled. 

The  siren  saw,  and  encouraged  him.  "  Poor  Gerardo," 
she  murmured,  "  fear  not ;  none  shall  ever  harm  thee 
under  my  wing.    Wilt  not  speak  to  me,  Gerar-do  mio  ?  " 

"  Signora  !  "  muttered  Gerard,  deprecatingly. 

At  that  moment  his  eye,  lowered  in  his  confusion,  fell 
on  the  shapely  white  arm  and  delicate  hand  that  curled 
round  his  elbow  like  a  tender  vine,  and  it  flashed  across 
him  how  he  had  just  seen  that  lovely  limb  employed  on 
Floretta. 

He  trembled  and  blushed. 

"Alas  !  "  said  the  princess,  "I  scare  him.  Am  I  then 
so  very  terrible  ?  Is  it  my  Eoman  robe  ?  I'll  doff  it, 
and  habit  me  as  when  thou  first  earnest  to  me.  Mindest 
thou  ?  'Twas  to  write  a  letter  to  yon  barren  knight 
Ercole  d'Orsini.  Shall  I  tell  thee  ?  'twas  the  sight  of 
thee,  and  thy  pretty  ways,  and  thy  wise  words,  made  me 
hate  him  on  the  instant.  I  liked  the  fool  well  enough 
before  ;  or  wist  I  liked  him.  Tell  me  now  how  many 
times  hast  thou  been  here  since  then.  Ah  !  thou  knowest 
not ;  lovest  me  not,  I  doubt,  as  I  love  thee.  Eighteen 
times,  Gerardo.  And  each  time  dearer  to  me.  The  day 
thou  comest  not,  'tis  night  not  day,  to  Claelia.  Alas !  I 
speak  for  both.  Cruel  boy,  am  I  not  worth  a  word? 
Hast  every  day  a  princess  at  thy  feet  ?  Nay,  prithee, 
prithee,  speak  to  me,  Gerar-do." 

"  Signora,"  faltered  Gerard,  "  what  can  I  say,  that  were 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  173 


not  better  left  unsaid  ?    Oh,  evil  day  that  ever  I  came 
here." 

"  Ah  !  say  not  so.  'Twas  the  brightest  day  ever  shone 
on  me,  or  indeed  on  thee.  I'll  make  thee  confess  so 
much  ere  long,  ungrateful  one." 

"Your  highness,"  began  Gerard,  in  a  low,  pleading 
voice. 

"  Call  me  Claelia,  Gerar-do." 

"  Signora,  I  am  too  young  and  too  little  wise  to  know 
how  I  ought  to  speak  to  you,  so  as  not  to  seem  blind  nor 
yet  ungrateful.  But  this  I  know,  I  were  both  naught 
and  ungrateful,  and  the  worst  foe  e'er  you  had,  did  I 
take  advantage  of  this  mad  fancy.  Sure  some  ill  spirit 
hath  had  leave  to  afflict  you  withal.  For  'tis  all  un- 
natural that  a  princess  adorned  with  every  grace  should 
abase  her  affections  on  a  churl." 

The  princess  withdrew  her  hand  slowly  from  Gerard's 
wrist. 

Yet  as  it  passed  lightly  over  his  arm  it  seemed  to 
linger  a  moment  at  parting.  • 

"  You  fear  the  daggers  of  my  kinsmen,"  said  she,  half 
sadly,  half  contemptuously. 

"No  more  than  I  fear  the  bodkins  of  your  women," 
said  Gerard,  haughtily.  "  But  I  fear  God  and  the  saints, 
and  my  own  conscience." 

"  The  truth,  Gerardo,  the  truth  !  Hypocrisy  sits  awk- 
wardly on  thee.  Princesses,  while  they  are  young,  are 
not  despised  for  love  of  God,  but  of  some  other  woman. 
Tell  me  whom  thou  lovest ;  and  if  she  is  worthy  thee  I 
will  forgive  thee." 

"  No  she  in  Italy,  upon  my  soul." 

u  Ah  !  there  is  one  somewhere,  then.   Where  ?  where  ?  " 

"  In  Holland,  my  native  country." 

"  Ah !  Marie  de  Bourgogne  is  fair,  they  say.  Yet  she 
is  but  a  child." 


174  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

"  Princess,  she  I  love  is  not  noble.  She  is  as  I  am. 
Nor  is  she  so  fair  as  thou.  Yet  is  she  fair ;  and  linked 
to  my  heart  for  ever  by  her  virtues,  and  by  all  the 
dangers  and  griefs  we  have  borne  together,  and  for  one 
another.  Forgive  me  ;  but  I  would  not  wrong  my  Mar- 
garet for  all  the  highest  dames  in  Italy." 

The  slighted  beauty  started  to  her  feet,  and  stood 
opposite  him,  as  beautiful,  but  far  more  terrible  than 
when  she  slapped  Floretta,  for  then  her  cheeks  were  red, 
but  now  they  were  pale,  and  her  eyes  full  of  concen- 
trated fury. 

"  This  to  my  face,  unmannered  wretch ! "  she  cried. 
"  Was  I  born  to  be  insulted,  as  well  as  scorned,  by  such 
as  thou  ?  Beware  !  We  nobles  brook  no  rivals.  Bethink 
thee  whether  is  better,  the  love  of  a  Cesarini,  or  her 
hate :  for  after  all  I  have  said  and  done  to  thee,  it  must 
be  love  or  hate  between  us  and  to  the  death.  Choose 
now ! " 

He  looked  up  at  her  with  wonder  and  awe,  as  she 
•  stood  towering  over  him  in  her  Boman  toga,  offering 
this  strange  alternative. 

He  seemed  to  have  affronted  a  goddess  of  antiquity ; 
he,  a  poor  puny  mortal. 

He  sighed  deeply,  but  spoke  not. 

Perhaps  something  in  his  deep  and  patient  sigh  touched 
a  tender  chord  in  that  ungoverned  creature ;  or  perhaps 
the  time  had  come  for  one  passion  to  ebb  and  another  to 
flow.  The  princess  sank  languidly  into  a  seat,  and  the 
tears  began  to  steal  rapidly  down  her  cheeks. 

"  Alas  !  alas  !  "  said  Gerard.  "  Weep  not,  sweet  lady ; 
your  tears  they  do  accuse  me,  and  I  am  like  to  weep  for 
company.  My  kind  patron ;  be  yourself !  you  will  live 
to  see  how  much  better  a  friend  I  was  to  you  than  I 
seemed." 

"I  see  it  now,  Gerardo,"  said  the  princess.  "Friend 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  175 


is  the  word :  the  only  word  can  ever  pass  between  us 
twain.  I  was  mad.  Any  other  man  had  ta'en  advantage 
of  my  folly.  You  must  teach  me  to  be  your  friend  and 
nothing  more." 

Gerard  hailed  this  proposition  with  joy ;  and  told  her 
out  of  Cicero  how  godlike  a  thing  was  friendship,  and 
how  much  better  and  rarer  and  more  lasting  than  love  : 
to  prove  to  her  he  was  capable  of  it,  he  even  told  her 
about  Denys  and  himself. 

She  listened  with  her  eyes  half  shut,  watching  his 
words  to  fathom  his  character,  and  learn  his  weak 
point. 

At  last,  she  addressed  him  calmly  thus  ;  "Leave  me 
now,  Gerardo,  and  come  as  usual  to-morrow.  You  will 
find  your  lesson  well  bestowed."  She  held  out  her  hand 
to  him :  he  kissed  it ;  and  went  away  pondering  deeply 
this  strange  interview,  and  wondering  whether  he  had 
done  prudently  or  not. 

The  next  day  he  was  received  with  marked  distance, 
and  the  princess  stood  before  him  literally  like  a  statue, 
and  after  a  very  short  sitting,  excused  herself  and  dis- 
missed him.  Gerard  felt  the  chilling  difference  :  but 
said  to  himself,  "  She  is  wise."  So  she  was  in  her 
way. 

The  next  day  he  found  the  princess  waiting  for  him, 
surrounded  by  young  nobles  flattering  her  to  the  skies. 
She  and  they  treated  him  like  a  dog  that  could  do  one 
little  trick  they  could  not.  The  cavaliers  in  particular 
criticised  his  work  with  a  mass  of  ignorance  and  inso- 
lence combined  that  made  his  cheeks  burn. 

The  princess  watched  his  face  demurely  with  half- 
closed  eyes,  at  each  sting  the  insects  gave  him :  and, 
when  they  had  fled,  had  her  doors  closed  against  every 
one  of  them  for  their  pains. 

The  -  next  day  Gerard  found  her  alone :  cold,  and. 


176  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


silent.  After  standing  to  him  so  some  time,  she  said, 
"  You  treated  my  company  with  less  respect  than  became 
you." 

"  Did  I,  signora  ?  " 

"  Did  you  ?  you  fired  up  at  the  comments  they  did  you 
the  honor  to  make  on  your  work." 

"  Nay,  I  said  nought,"  observed  Gerard. 

"  Oh,  high  looks  speak  as  plain  as  high  words.  Your 
cheeks  were  red  as  blood." 

"  I  was  nettled  a  moment  at  seeing  so  much  ignorance 
and  ill-nature  together." 

"  Now  it  is  me,  their  hostess,  you  affront." 

"Forgive  me,  signora,  and  acquit  me  of  design.  It 
would  ill  become  me  to  affront  the  kindest  patron  and 
friend  I  have  in  Eome  —  but  one." 

"  How  humble  we  are  all  of  a  sudden.  In  sooth,  Ser 
Gerardo,  you  are  a  capital  feigner.  You  can  insult  or 
truckle  at  will." 

"  Truckle  ?  to  whom  ?  " 

"  To  me,  for  one ;  to  one  whom  you  affronted  for  a 
base-born  girl  like  yourself,  but  whose  patronage  you 
claim  all  the  same." 

Gerard  rose,  and  put  his  hand  to  his  heart.  "  These 
are  biting  words,  signora.  Have  I  really  deserved 
them  ?  " 

"  Oh,  what  are  words  to  an  adventurer  like  you  ?  cold 
steel  is  all  you  fear." 

"  I  am  no  swashbuckler,  yet  I  have  met  steel  with 
steel ;  and  methinks  I  had  rather  face  your  kinsmen's 
swords  than  your  cruel  tongue,  lady.  Why  do  you  use 
me  so  ?  " 

"  Gerar-do,  for  no  good  reason,  but  because  I  am  way- 
ward, and  shrewish,  and  curst,  and  because  everybody 
admires  me  but  you." 

"  I  admire  you  too,  signora.    Your  friends  may  flatter 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  177 


you  more ;  but,  believe  me,  they  have  not  the  eye  to  see 
half  your  charms.  Their  babble  yesterday  showed  me 
that.  None  admire  you  more  truly,  or  wish  you  better, 
than  the  poor  artist,  who  might  not  be  your  lover,  but 
hoped  to  be  your  friend  :  but  no,  I  see  that  may  not  be 
between  one  so  high  as  you,  and  one  so  low  as  I." 

"  Ay !  but  it  shall,  Gerardo,"  said  the  princess  eagerly. 
"  I  will  not  be  so  curst.  Tell  me  now  where  abides  thy 
Margaret,  and  I  will  give  thee  a  present  for  her ;  and  on 
that  you  and  I  will  be  friends." 

"  She  is  the  daughter  of  a  physician  called  Peter,  and 
they  bide  at  Sevenbergen ;  ah  me,  shall  I  e'er  see  it 
again  ?  " 

"  'Tis  well.  Now  go."  And  she  dismissed  him  some- 
what abruptly. 

Poor  Gerard  !  He  began  to  wade  in  deep  waters  when 
he  encountered  this  Italian  princess ;  callida  et  calida 
solis  filia.  He  resolved  to  go  no  more  when  once  he  had 
finished  her  likeness.  Indeed,  he  now  regretted  having 
undertaken  so  long  and  laborious  a  task. 

This  resolution  was  shaken  for  a  moment  by  his  next 
reception,  which  was  all  gentleness  and  kindness. 

After  standing  to  him  some  time  in  her  toga,  she  said 
she  was  fatigued,  and  wanted  his  assistance  in  another 
way  :  would  he  teach  her  to  draw  a  little  ?  He  sat  down 
beside  her,  and  taught  her  to  make  easy  lines.  He  found 
her  wonderfully  apt.    He  said  so. 

"  I  had  a  teacher  before  thee,  Gerar-do.  Ay,  and  one 
as  handsome  as  thyself."  She  then  went  to  a  drawer, 
and  brought  out  several  heads  drawn  with  a  complete 
ignorance  of  the  art,  but  with  great  patience  and  natural 
talent.  They  were  all  heads  of  Gerard,  and  full  of 
spirit :  and  really  not  unlike.  One  was  his  very  image. 
"  There,"  said  she,  "  now  thou  seest  who  was  my  teacher." 

"  Not  I,  signora." 
12 


178  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  What,  know  you  not  who  teaches  us  women  to  do  all 
things  ?  "lis  love,  Gerar-do.  Love  made  me  draw 
because  thou  drawest,  Gerar-do.  Love  prints  thine 
image  in  my  bosom.  My  fingers  touch  the  pen,  and  love 
supplies  the  want  of  art,  and  lo  !  thy  beloved  features 
lie  upon  the  paper." 

Gerard  opened  his  eyes  with  astonishment  at  this 
return  to  an  interdicted  topic.  "  Oh,  signora,  you  prom- 
ised me  to  be  friends  and  nothing  more." 

She  laughed  in  his  face.  "  How  simple  you  are  !  who 
believes  a  woman  promising  nonsense,  impossibilities  ? 
Friendship,  foolish  boy !  who  ever  built  that  temple  on 
red  ashes  ?  Nay,  Gerar-do,"  she  added  gloomily,  "  be- 
tween thee  and  me  it  must  be  love  or  hate." 

"  Which  you  will,  signora,"  said  Gerard  firmly.  "  But 
for  me,  I  will  neither  love  nor  hate  you ;  but  with  your 
permission  I  will  leave  you."    And  he  rose  abruptly. 

She  rose  too,  pale  as  death,  and  said,  "Ere  thou 
leavest  me  so,  know  thy  fate ;  outside  that  door  are 
armed  men  who  wait  to  slay  thee  at  a  word  from  me." 

"  But  you  will  not  speak  that  word,  signora." 

"  That  word  I  will  speak.  Nay,  more ;  I  shall  noise 
it  abroad  it  was  for  proffering  brutal  love  to  me  thou 
wert  slain ;  and  I  will  send  a  special  messenger  to  Seven- 
bergen  :  a  cunning  messenger,  well  taught  his  lesson. 
Thy  Margaret  shall  know  thee  dead,  and  think  thee 
faithless  ;  now,  go  to  thy  grave,  —  a  dog's.  For  a  man 
thou  art  not." 

Gerard  turned  pale,  and  stood  dumb-stricken.  "  God 
have  mercy  on  us  both ! " 

"Nay,  have  thou  mercy  on  her,  and  on  thyself.  She 
will  never  know  in  Holland  what  thou  dost  in  Kome ; 
unless  I  be  driven  to  tell  her  my  tale.  Come,  yield  thee, 
Gerar-do  mio  ;  what  will  it  cost  thee  to  say  thou  lovest 
me  ?    I  ask  thee  but  to  feign  it  handsomely.    Thou  art 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


179 


young :  die  not  for  the  poor  pleasure  of  denying  a  lady 
what — the  shadow  of  a  heart.  Who  will  shed  a  tear  for 
thee  ?  I  tell  thee  men  will  laugh,  not  weep,  over  thy 
tombstone  —  ah!"  She  ended  in  a  little  scream,  for 
Gerard  threw  himself  in  a  moment  at  her  feet,  and 
poured  out  in  one  torrent  of  eloquence  the  story  of  his 
love  and  Margaret's.  How  he  had  been  imprisoned, 
hunted  with  bloodhounds  for  her,  driven  to  exile  for  her ; 
how  she  had  shed  her  blood  for  him,  and  now  pined  at 
home.  How  he  had  walked  through  Europe  environed 
by  perils,  torn  by  savage  brutes,  attacked  by  furious  men 
with  sword  and  axe  and  trap,  robbed,  shipwrecked,  for 
her. 

The  princess  trembled,  and  tried  to  get  away  from 
him  :  but  he  held  her  robe,  he  clung  to  her,  he  made  her 
hear  his  pitiful  story  and  Margaret's ;  he  caught  her 
hand,  and  clasped  it  between  both  his,  and  his  tears  fell 
fast  on  her  hand,  as  he  implored  her  to  think  on  all  the 
woes  of  the  true  lovers  she  would  part:  and  what  but 
remorse,  swift  and  lasting,  could  come  of  so  deep  a  love 
betrayed,  and  so  false  a  love  feigned,  with  mutual  hatred 
lurking  at  the  bottom. 

In  such  moments  none  ever  resisted  Gerard. 

The  princess,  after  in  vain  trying  to  get  away  from 
him,  for  she  felt  his  power  over  her,  began  to  waver  and 
sigh,  and  her  bosom  to  rise  and  fall  tumultuously,  and 
her  fiery  eyes  to  fill. 

"  You  conquer  me,"  she  sobbed.  "  You,  or  my  better 
angel.    Leave  Rome  !  " 

"  I  will,  I  will." 

"  If  you  breathe  a  word  of  my  folly,  it  will  be  your 
last." 

"Think  not  so  poorly  of  me.  You  are  my  benefac- 
tress once  more.    Is  it  for  me  to  slander  you  ?  " 

"Go  !  I  will  send  you  the  means.    I  know  myself  j  if 


180 


THE  CLOISTER  A5D  THE  HZAP.TH. 


you  cross  my  path,  again.  I  shall  kill  you.  Addio;  my 
heart  is  broken."' 

She  touched  her  bell  ••  Floretta,"  said  she.  in  a  choked 
voice,  •'•'take  him  safe  out  of  the  house,  through,  my 
chamber,  and  by  the  side  postern." 

He  turned  at  the  door  ;  she  was  leaning  with  one  hand 
on  a  chair,  crying,  with,  averted  head.  Then  he  thought 
only  of  her  kindness,  and  ran  back  and  kissed  her  robe. 
She  never  moved. 

Once  clear  of  the  house  he  darted  home,  thanking 
Heaven  for  his  escape,  soul  and  body. 

■■  Landlady/'  said  he.  there  is  one  would  pick  a  quar- 
rel with  me.    What  is  to  be  done  ?  " 

Strike  him  first,  and  at  vantage  !  Get  behind  him : 
and  then  draw." 

••  Alas.  I  lack  your  Italian  courage.  To  be  serious, 
'tis  a  noble." 

••  Oh,  holy  saints,  that  is  another  matter.  Change  thy 
lodging  awhile,  and  keep  snug :  and  alter  the  fashion  of 
thy  habits.'' 

She  then  took  him  to  her  own  niece,  who  let  lodgings 
at  some  little  distance,  and  installed  him  there. 

He  had  little  to  do  now.  and  no  princess  to  draw,  so 
he  set  himself  resolutely  to  read  that  deed  of  Floris 
Brandt,  from  which  he  had  hitherto  been  driven  by  the 
abominably  bad  writing.  He  mastered  it.  and  saw  at 
once  that  the  loan  on  this  land  must  have  been  paid  over 
and  over  again  by  the  rents,  and  that  Ghysbrecht  was 
keeping  Peter  Brandt  out  of  his  own. 

*•'  Fool !  not  to  have  read  this  before."  he  eriecL  He 
hired  a  horse  and  rode  down  to  the  nearest  port.  A 
vessel  was  to  sail  for  Amsterdam  in  four  days. 

He  took  a  passage  :  and  paid  a  small  sum  to  secure  it. 

u  The  land  is  too  full  of  cut-throats  for  me."  said  he ; 
•and  'tis  lovely  fair  weather  for  the  sea.    Our  Dutch 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  ISi 


Skippers  are  not  shipwrecked  like  these  bungling  Ital- 
ians." 

When  he  returned  home  there  sat  his  old  landlady 
with  her  eyes  sparkling. 

"  You  are  in  luck,  my  young  master,"  said  she.  "  All 
the  fish  run  to  your  net  this  day  methinks.  See  what  a 
lackey  hath  brought  to  our  house  !  This  bill  and  this 
bag." 

Gerard  broke  the  seals,  and  found  it  full  of  silver 
crowns.  The  letter  contained  a  mere  slip  of  paper  with 
this  line,  cut  out  of  some  MS. :  "La  lingua  non  ha  osso, 
ma  fa  romper e  il  dosso." 

"  Fear  me  not ! "  said  Gerard,  aloud.  "  I'll  keep  mine 
between  my  teeth." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  Oh,  nothing.  Am  I  not  happy,  dame  ?  I  am  going 
back  to  my  sweetheart  with  money  in  one  pocket,  and 
land  in  the  other."  And  he  fell  to  dancing  round 
her. 

"Well,"  said  she,  "I  trow  nothing  could  make  you 
happier." 

"Nothing,  except  to  be  there." 

"Well,  that  is  a  pity,  for  I  thought  to  make  you  a 
little  happier  with  a  letter  from  Holland." 

"  A  letter  ?  for  me  ?  where  ?  how  ?  who  brought  it  ? 
Oh,  dame  ! " 

"A  stranger;  a  painter,  with  a  reddish  face  and  an 
outlandish  name  ;  Anselmin,  I  trow." 

"Hans  Memling?  a  friend  of  mine.  God  bless 
him!" 

"  Ay,  that  is  it ;  Anselmin.  He  could  scarce  speak  a 
word,  but  a  had  the  wit  to  name  thee :  and  a  puts  the 
letter  down,  and  a  nods  and  smiles,  and  I  nods  and 
smiles,  and  gives  him  a  pint  o'  wine,  and  it  went  down 
him  like  a  spoonful." 


182 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  That  is  Hans,  honest  Hans.  0h;  dame,  I  am  in  luck 
to-day  :  but  I  deserve  it.  For,  I  care  not  if  I  tell  you,  I 
have  just  overcome  a  great  temptation  for  dear  Mar- 
garet's sake.'7 

"  Who  is  she  ?  " 

"  Nay,  I'd  have  my  tongue  cut  out  sooner  than  betray 
her,  but  oh,  it  was  a  temptation.  Gratitude  pushing  me 
wrong,  Beauty  almost  divine  pulling  me  wrong  :  curses, 
reproaches,  and,  hardest  of  all  to  resist,  gentle  tears  from 
eyes  used  to  command.  Sure  some  saint  helped  me ; 
Anthony  belike.    But  my  reward  is  come." 

"  Ay  is  it,  lad ;  and  no  farther  off  than  my  pocket. 
Come  out,  Gerard's  reward,"  and  she  brought  a  letter  out 
of  her  capacious  pocket. 

Gerard  threw  his  arm  round  her  neck  and  hugged  her. 
"  My  best  friend,"  said  he,  "  my  second  mother,  I'll  read 
it  to  you." 

"Ay,  do,  do." 

"  Alas !  it  is  not  from  Margaret.  This  is  not  her  hand." 
And  he  turned  it  about. 

"  Alack !  but  may  be  her  bill  is  within.  The  lasses 
are  aye  for  gliding  in  their  bills  under  cover  of  another 
hand." 

"  True.  Whose  hand  is  this  ?  sure  I  have  seen  it.  I 
trow  'tis  my  dear  friend  the  demoiselle  Van  Eyck.  Oh, 
then  Margaret's  bill  will  be  inside."  He  tore  it  open. 
"  Nay,  'tis  all  in  one  writing.  '  Gerard,  my  well-beloved 
son'  (she  never  called  me  that  before,  that  I  mind),  '  this 
letter  brings  thee  heavy  news  from  one  would  liever 
send  thee  joyful  tidings.  Know  that  Margaret  Brandt 
died  in  these  arms  on  Thursday  se'nnight  last.'  (What 
does  the  doting  old  woman  mean  by  that  ?)  ( The  last 
word  on  her  lips  was  "  Gerard : "  she  said,  "  Tell  him  I 
prayed  for  him  at  my  last  hour :  and  bid  him  pray  for 
^e."    She  died  very  comfortable,  and  I  saw  her  laid  in 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  183 


the  earth,  for  her  father  was  useless,  as  you  shall  know. 
So  no  more  at  present  from  her  that  is  with  sorrowing 
heart  thy  loving  friend  and  servant, 

"  Margaret  Van  Eyck." 

"  Ay,  that  is  her  signature  sure  enough.  Now  what 
d'ye  think  of  that,  dame  ?  "  cried  Gerard,  with  a  grating 
laugh.  "  There  is  a  pretty  letter  to  send  to  a  poor  fellow 
so  far  from  home.  But  it  is  Keicht  Heynes  I  blame  for 
humoring  the  old  woman  and  letting  her  do  it  j  as  for 
the  old  woman  herself,  she  dotes,  she  has  lost  her  head, 
she  is  fourscore.  Oh,  my  heart,  I'm  choking.  For  all 
that  she  ought  to  be  locked  up,  or  her  hands  tied.  Say 
this  had  come  to  a  fool ;  say  I  was  idiot  enough  to  believe 
this ;  know  ye  what  I  should  do  ?  run  to  the  top  of  the 
highest  church  tower  in  Rome  and  fling  myself  off 
it,  cursing  Heaven.  Woman !  woman !  what  are  you 
doing  ? "  And  he  seized  her  rudely  by  the  shoulder. 
"  What  are  ye  weeping  for  ?  "  he  cried  in  a  voice  all  un- 
like his  own,  and  loud  and  hoarse  as  a  raven.  "  Would 
ye  scald  me  to  death  with  your  tears  ?  She  believes  it. 
She  believes  it.  Ah !  ah !  ah !  ah !  ah !  ah !  —  Then  there 
is  no  God." 

The  poor  woman  sighed  and  rocked  herself.  "And 
must  I  be  the  one  to  bring  it  thee  all  smiling  and  smirk- 
ing ?  I  could  kill  myself  for't.  Death  spares  none," 
she  sobbed.    "  Death  spares  none." 

Gerard  staggered  against  the  window-sill.  "But  He 
is  master  of  death,"  he  groaned.  Or  they  have  taught 
me  a  lie.  I  begin  to  fear  there  is  no  God,  and  the  saints 
are  but  dead  bones,  and  hell  is  master  of  the  world.  My 
pretty  Margaret ;  my  sweet,  my  loving  Margaret !  The 
best  daughter,  the  truest  lover !  the  pride  of  Holland  ! 
the  darling  of  the  world!  It  is  a  lie.  Where  is  this 
caitiff  Hans  ?  I'll  hunt  him  round  the  town.  I'll  cram 
his  murdering  falsehood  down  his  throat." 


184  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


And  he  seized  his  hat  and  ran  furiously  about  the 
streets  for  hours. 

Towards  sunset  he  came  back  white  as  a  ghost.  He 
had  not  found  Memling  :  but  his  poor  mind  had  had 
time  to  realize  the  woman's  simple  words,  that  Death 
spares  none. 

He  crept  into  the  house  bent,  and  feeble  as  an  old 
man,  and  refused  all  food.  Nor  would  he  speak,  but  sat, 
white,  with  great  staring  eyes,  muttering  at  intervals, 
"  There  is  no  God." 

Alarmed  both  on  his  account  and  on  her  own  (for  he 
looked  a  desperate  maniac),  his  landlady  ran  for  her 
aunt. 

The  good  dame  came,  and  the  two  women,  braver 
together,  sat  one  on  each  side  of  him,  and  tried  to  soothe 
him  with  kind  and  consoling  voices.  But  he  heeded 
them  no  more  than  the  chairs  they  sat  on.  Then  the 
younger  held  a  crucifix  out  before  him,  to  aid  her. 
"  Maria,  mother  of  heaven,  comfort  him,"  they  sighed. 
But  he  sat  glaring,  deaf  to  all  external  sounds. 

Presently,  without  any  warning,  he  jumped  up,  struck 
the  crucifix  rudely  out  of  hi%  way  with  a  curse,  and  made 
a  headlong  dash  at  the  door.  The  poor  women  shrieked. 
But,  ere  he  reached  the  door,  something  seemed  to  them 
to  draw  him  up  straight  by  his  hair,  and  twirl  him  round 
like  a  top.  He  whirled  twice  round  with  arms  extended ; 
then  fell  like  a  dead  log  upon  the  floor,  with  blood  trick- 
ling from  his  nostrils  and  ears. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  185 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Gerard  returned  to  consciousness  and  to  despair. 

On  the  second  day  he  was  raving  with  fever  on  the 
brain.  On  a  table  hard  by  lay  his  rich  auburn  hair,  long 
as  a  woman's. 

The  deadlier  symptoms  succeeded  one  another  rapidly. 
On  the  fifth  day  his  leech  retired  and  gave  him  up. 
On  the  sunset  of  that  same  day  he  fell  into  a  deep 
sleep. 

Some  said  he  would  wake  only  to  die. 

But  an  old  gossip,  whose  opinion  carried  weight  (she 
had  been  a  professional  nurse),  declared  that  his  youth 
might  save  him  yet,  could  he  sleep  twelve  hours. 

On  this  his  old  landlady  cleared  the  room  and  watched 
him  alone.  She  vowed  a  wax  candle  to  the  Virgin  for 
every  hour  he  should  sleep. 

He  slept  twelve  hours. 

The  good  soul  rejoiced,  and  thanked  the  Virgin  on  her 
knees. 

He  slept  twenty-four  hours. 

His  kind  nurse  began  to  doubt.  At  the  thirtieth  hour 
she  sent  for  the  woman  of  art.  "  Thirty  hours  !  shall  we 
wake  him  ?  " 

The  other  inspected  him  closely  for  some  time. 

"  His  breath  is  even,  his  hand  moist.  I  know  there 
be  learned  leeches  would  wake  him,  to  look  at  his  tongue, 
and  be  none  the  wiser;  but  we  that  be  women  should 
have  the  sense  to  let  bon  nature  alone.  When  did  sleep 
ever  harm  the  racked  brain  or  the  torn  heart  ?  " 

When  he  had  been  forty-eight  hours  asleep,  it  got 


186  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


wind,  and  they  had  much  ado  to  keep  the  curious  out. 
But  they  admitted  only  Fra  Colonna  and  his  friend  the 
gigantic  Fra  Jerome. 

These  two  relieved  the  women,  and  sat  silent ;  the 
former  eying  his  young  friend  with  tears  in  his  eyes ; 
the  latter  with  beads  in  his  hand  looked  as  calmly  on 
him,  as  he  had  on  the  sea  when  Gerard  and  he  encount- 
ered it  hand  to  hand. 

At  last,  I  think  it  was  about  the  sixtieth  hour  of  this 
strange  sleep,  the  landlady  touched  Fra  Colonna  with 
her  elbow.  He  looked.  Gerard  had  opened  his  eyes 
as  gently  as  if  he  had  been  but  dozing. 

He  stared. 

He  drew  himself  up  a  little  in  bed. 
He  put  his  hand  to  his  head,  and  found  his  hair  was 
gone. 

He  noticed  his  friend  Colonna,  and  smiled  with  pleas- 
ure. But  in  the  middle  of  smiling  his  face  stopped,  and 
was  convulsed  in  a  moment  with  anguish  unspeakable, 
and  he  uttered  a  loud  cry,  and  turned  his  face  to  the 
wall. 

His  good  landlady  wept  at  this.  She  had  known  what 
it  is  to  awake  bereaved. 

Fra  Jerome  recited  canticles,  and  prayers  from  his 
breviary. 

Gerard  rolled  himself  in  the  bed-clothes. 

Fra  Colonna  went  to  him,  and,  whimpering,  reminded 
him  that  all  was  not  lost.  The  divine  Muses  were  im- 
mortal. He  must  transfer  his  affection  to  them ;  they 
would  never  betray  him  nor  fail  him  like  creatures  of 
clay.  The  good,  simple  father  then  hurried  away ;  for 
he  was  overcome  by  his  emotion. 

Fra  Jerome  remained  behind.  "  Young  man,"  said  he, 
"the  Muses  exist  but  in  the  brains  of  pagans  and  vision- 
aries.   The  Church  alone  gives  repose  to  the  heart  on 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


187 


earth,  and  happiness  to  the  soul  hereafter.  Hath  earth 
deceived  thee,  hath  passion  broken  thy  heart  after  tear- 
ing it,  the  Church  opens  her  arms :  consecrate  thy  gifts 
to  her  !    The  Church  is  peace  of  mind." 

He  spoke  these  words  solemnly  at  the  door,  and  was 
gone  as  soon  as  they  were  uttered. 

"  The  Church  !  "  cried  Gerard,  rising  furiously  and 
shaking  his  fist  after  the  friar.  "Malediction  on  the 
Church !  But  for  the  Church  I  should  not  lie  broken 
here,  and  she  lie  cold,  cold,  cold,  in  Holland.  0  my 
Margaret !  0  my  darling  !  my  darling  !  And  I  must  run 
from  thee  the  few  months  thou  hadst  to  live.  Cruel ! 
cruel !  The .  monsters,  they  let  her  die.  Death  comes 
not  without  some  signs.  These  the  blind,  selfish  wretches 
saw  not,  or  recked  not ;  but  I  had  seen  them,  I  that  love 
her.  Oh,  had  I  been  there,  I  had  saved  her,  I  had  saved 
her !    Idiot !  idiot !  to  leave  her  for  a  moment." 

He  wept  bitterly  a  long  time. 

Then,  suddenly  bursting  into  rage  again,  he  cried, 
vehemently,  "  The  Church !  for  whose  sake  I  was  driven 
from  her ;  my  malison  be  on  the  Church  !  and  the  hypo- 
crites that  name  it  to  my  broken  heart.  Accursed  be 
the  world  !  Ghysbrecht  lives  ;  Margaret  dies.  Thieves, 
murderers,  harlots,  live  forever.  Only  angels  die.  Curse 
life !  Curse  death !  and  whosoever  made  them  what 
they  are ! " 

The  friar  did  not  hear  these  mad  and  wicked  words ; 
but  only  the  yell  of  rage  with  which  they  were  flung 
after  him. 

It  was  as  well.  For,  if  he  had  heard  them,  he  would 
have  had  his  late  shipmate  burned  in  the  forum  with  as 
little  hesitation  as  he  would  have  roasted  a  kid. 

His  old  landlady,  who  had  accompanied  Fra  Colonna 
down  the  stair,  heard  the  raised  voice,  and  returned  in 
some  anxiety. 


188  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


She  found  Gerard  putting  on  his  clothes,  and  crying. 
She  remonstrated. 

"  What  avails  my  lying  here  ?  "  said  he,  gloomily. 
"  Can  I  find  here  that  which  I  seek  ?  " 

"  Saints  preserve  us  !  Is  he  distraught  again  ?  What 
seek  ye  ?  " 

"  Oblivion." 

"  Oblivion,  my  little  heart  ?  Oh,  but  y'are  young  to 
talk  so." 

"  Young  or  old,  what  else  have  I  to  live  for  ?  " 
He  put  on  his  best  clothes. 

The  good  dame  remonstrated.  "My  pretty  Gerard, 
know  that  it  is  Tuesday,  not  Sunday." 

"  Oh,  Tuesday  is  it  ?    I  thought  it  had  been  Saturday." 

"  Nay,  thou  hast  slept  long.  Thou  never  wearest  thy 
brave  clothes  on  working  days.  Consider." 

"  What  I  did,  when  she  lived,  I  did.  Now  I  shall  do 
whatever  erst  I  did  not.  The  past  is  the  past.  There 
lies  my  hair,  and  with  it  my  way  of  life.  I  have  served 
one  master  as  well  as  I  could.  You  see  my  reward. 
Now  I'll  serve  another,  and  give  him  a  fair  trial,  too." 

"  Alas  !  "  sighed  the  woman,  turning  pale,  "  what  mean 
these  dark  words  ?  and  what  new  master  is  this  whose 
service  thou  wouldst  try  ?  " 

"  Satan." 

And  with  this  horrible  declaration  on  his  lips  the 
miserable  creature  walked  out  with  his  cap  and  feather 
set  jauntily  on  one  side,  and  feeble  limbs,  and  a  sinister 
face  pale  as  ashes,  and  all  drawn  down  as  if  by  age. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


189 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A  dark  cloud  fell  on  a  noble  mind. 

His  pure  and  unrivalled  love  for  Margaret  had  been 
his  polar  star.  It  was  quenched,  and  he  drifted  on  the 
gloomy  sea  of  no  hope. 

Nor  was  he  a  prey  to  despair  alone,  but  to  exasperation 
at  all  his  self-denial,  fortitude,  perils,  virtue,  wasted,  and 
worse  than  wasted;  for  it  kept  burning  and  stinging 
him,  that,  had  he  stayed  lazily,  selfishly,  at  home,  he 
should  have  saved  his  Margaret's  life. 

These  two  poisons,  raging  together  in  his  young  blood, 
maddened  and  demoralized  him.  He  rushed  fiercely 
into  pleasure.  And  in  those  days,  even  more  than  now, 
pleasure  was  vice. 

Wine,  women,  gambling,  whatever  could  procure  him 
an  hour's  excitement  and  a  moment's  oblivion,  —  he 
plunged  into  these  things,  as  men  tired  of  life  have 
rushed  among  the  enemy's  bullets. 

The  large  sums  he  had  put  by  for  Margaret  gave  him 
ample  means  for  debauchery,  and  he  was  soon  the  leader 
of  those  loose  companions  he  had  hitherto  kept  at  a 
distance. 

His  heart  deteriorated  along  with  his  morals. 

He  sulked  with  his  old  landlady  for  thrusting  gentle 
advice  and  warning  on  him ;  and  finally  removed  to 
another  part  of  the  town,  to  be  clear  of  remonstrance 
and  reminiscences.  When  he  had  carried  this  game  on 
some  time,  his  hand  became  less  steady,  and  he  could  no 
longer  write  to  satisfy  himself.  Moreover,  his  patience 
declined  as  the  habits  of  pleasure  grew  on  him.  So  he 
gave  up  that  art,  and  took  likenesses  in  colors. 


190  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


But  this  he  neglected  whenever  the  idle  rakes,  his 
companions,  came  for  him. 

And  so  he  dived  in  foul  waters,  seeking  that  sorry 
oyster-shell,  oblivion. 

It  is  not  my  business  to  paint  at  full  length  the  scenes 
of  coarse  vice,  in  which  this  unhappy  young  man  now 
played  a  part.  But  it  is  my  business  to  impress  the 
broad  truth  that  he  was  a  rake,  a  debauchee,  and  a 
drunkard,  and  one  of  the  wildest,  loosest,  and  wickedest 
young  men  in  Kome. 

They  are  no  lovers  of  truth,  nor  of  mankind,  who  con- 
ceal or  slur  the  wickedness  of  the  good,  and  so  by  their 
want  of  candor  rob  despondent  sinners  of  hope. 

Enough,  the  man  was  not  born  to  do  things  by  halves. 
And  he  was  not  vicious  by  halves. 

His  humble  female  friends  often  gossiped  about  him. 
His  old  landlady  told  Teresa  he  was  going  to  the  bad, 
and  prayed  her  to  try  and  find  out  where  he  was. 

Teresa  told  her  husband  Lodovico  his  sad  story,  and 
bade  him  look  about  and  see  if  he  could  discover  the 
young  man's  present  abode.  "Shouldst  remember  his 
face,  Lodovico  mio  ?  " 

"  Teresa,  a  man  in  my  way  of  life  never  forgets  a  face, 
least  of  all  a  benefactor's.  But  thou  knowest  I  seldom 
go  abroad  by  daylight." 

Teresa  sighed.  "And  how  long  is  it  to  be  so,  Lodo- 
vico ?  " 

"Till  some  cavalier  passes  his  sword  through  me. 
They  will  not  let  a  poor  fellow  like  me  take  to  any 
honest  trade." 

Pietro  Vanucci  was  one  of  those  who  bear  prosperity 
worse  than  adversity. 

Having  been  ignominiously  ejected  for  late  hours  by 
their  old  landlady,  and  meeting  Gerard  in  the  street,  he 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  191 

greeted  him  warmly,  and  soon  after  took  up  his  quarters 
in  the  same  house. 

He  brought  with  him  a  lad  called  Andrea,  who  ground 
his  colors,  and  was  his  pupil,  and  also  his  model,  being 
a  youth  of  rare  beauty,  and  as  sharp  as  a  needle. 

Pietro  had  not  quite  forgotten  old  times,  and  professed 
a  warm  friendship  for  Gerard. 

Gerard,  in  whom  all  warmth  of  sentiment  seemed 
extinct,  submitted  coldly  to  the  other's  friendship. 

And  a  fine  acquaintance  it  was.  This  Pietro  was  not 
only  a  libertine,  but  half  a  misanthrope,  and  an  open 
infidel. 

And  so  they  ran  in  couples,  with  mighty  little  in 
common.    Oh,  rare  phenomenon  ! 

One  day,  when  Gerard  had  undermined  his  health, 
and  taken  the  bloom  off  his  beauty,  and  run  through 
most  of  his  money,  Vanucci  got  up  a  gay  party  to  mount 
the  Tiber  in  a  boat  drawn  by  buffaloes.  Lorenzo  de' 
Medici  had  imported  these  creatures  into  Florence  about 
three  years  before.  But  they  were  new  in  Rome,  and 
nothing  would  content  this  beggar  on  horseback,  Vanucci, 
but  being  drawn  by  the  brutes  up  the  Tiber. 

Each  libertine  was  to  bring  a  lady ;  and  she  must  be 
handsome,  or  he  be  fined.  But  the  one  that  should  con- 
tribute the  loveliest  was  to  be  crowned  with  laurel,  and 
voted  a  public  benefactor.  Such  was  their  reading  of 
"  Vir  bonus  est  quis  ?  "  They  got  a  splendid  galley,  and 
twelve  buffaloes.  And  all  the  libertines  and  their  female 
accomplices  assembled  by  degrees  at  the  place  of  embark- 
ation.   But  no  Gerard. 

They  waited  for  him  some  time,  at  first  patiently,  then 
impatiently. 

Vanucci  excused  him.  "  I  heard  him  say  he  had  for- 
gotten to  provide  himself  with  a  fardingale.  Comrades, 
the  good  lad  is  hunting  for  a  beauty  fit  to  take  rank 


192  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

among  these  peerless  dames.  Consider  the  difficulty, 
ladies,  and  be  patient ! " 

At  last  Gerard  was  seen  at  some  distance  with  a 
female  in  his  hand. 

"She  is  long  enough,"  said  one  of  her  sex,  criticising 
her  from  afar. 

"  Gemini !  what  steps  she  takes,"  said  another.  "  Oh  I 
it  is  wise  to  hurry  into  good  company,"  was  Pietro's 
excuse. 

But  when  the  pair  came  up,  satire  was  choked. 

Gerard's  companion  was  a  peerless  beauty.  She  extin- 
guished the  boat-load  as  stars  the  rising  sun.  Tall,  but 
not  too  tall,  and  straight  as  a  dart,  yet  supple  as  a  young 
panther.  Her  face  a  perfect  oval,  her  forehead  white, 
her  cheeks  a  rich  olive  with  the  eloquent  blood  mantling 
below ;  and  her  glorious  eyes  fringed  with  long,  thick, 
silken  eyelashes,  that  seemed  made  to  sweep  up  sensitive 
hearts  by  the  half-dozen.  Saucy  red  lips,  and  teeth  of 
the  whitest  ivory. 

The  women  were  visibly  depressed  by  this  wretched 
sight ;  the  men  in  ecstasies ;  they  received  her  with  loud 
shouts  and  waving  of  caps,  and  one  enthusiast  even  went 
down  on  his  knees  upon  the  boat's  gunwale,  and  hailed 
her  of  origin  divine.  But  his  chere  amie  pulling  his  hair 
for  it  —  and  the  goddess  giving  him  a  little  kick  — 
contemporaneously,  he  lay  supine ;  and  the  peerless  creat- 
ure frisked  over  his  body  without  deigning  him  a  look, 
and  took  her  seat  at  the  prow.  Pietro  Vanucci  sat  in  a 
sort  of  collapse,  glaring  at  her,  and  gaping  with  his 
mouth  open  like  a  dying  codfish. 

The  drover  spoke  to  the  buffaloes,  the  ropes  tightened, 
and  they  moved  up  stream. 

"  What  think  ye  of  this  new  beef,  mesdames  ?  " 

"  We  ne'er  saw  monsters  so  vilely  ill-favored,  with 
their  nasty  horns  that  make  one  afeard,  and  their  foul 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  193 


nostrils  cast  up  into  the  air.  Holes  be  they ;  not  nos- 
trils." 

"  Signorina,  the  beeves  are  a  present  from  Florence 
the  beautiful.    Would  ye  look  a  gift  beef  i'  the  nose  ?  " 

"  They  are  so  dull,"  objected  a  lively  lady.  "  I  went 
up  Tiber  twice  as  fast  last  time  with  but  five  mules  and 
an  ass." 

"Nay,  that  is  soon  mended,"  cried  a  gallant,  and 
jumping  ashore  he  drew  his  sword,  and,  despite  the 
remonstrances  of  the  drivers,  went  down  the  dozen  buffa- 
loes goading  them. 

They  snorted  and  whisked  their  tails,  and  went  no 
faster,  at  which  the  boat-load  laughed  loud  and  long; 
finally  he  goaded  a  patriarch  bull,  who  turned  instantly 
on  the  sword,  sent  his  long  horns  clean  through  the 
spark,  and  with  a  furious  jerk  of  his  prodigious  neck 
sent  him  flying  over  his  head  into  the  air.  He  described 
a  bold  parabola  and  fell  sitting,  and  unconsciously  waving 
his  glittering  blade,  into  the  yellow  Tiber.  The  laugh- 
ing ladies  screamed  and  wrung  their  hands,  all  but 
Gerard's  fair.  She  uttered  something  very  like  an  oath, 
and  seizing  the  helm  steered  the  boat  out,  and  the  gallant 
came  up  sputtering,  griped  the  gunwale,  and  was  drawn 
in  dripping. 

He  glared  round  him  confusedly.  "  I  understand  not 
that,"  said  he,  a  little  peevishly ;  puzzled,  and,  therefore, 
it  would  seem,  discontented.  At  which,  finding  he  was 
by  some  strange  accident  not  slain,  his  doublet  being 
perforated,  instead  of  his  body,  they  began  to  laugh 
again  louder  than  ever. 

"  What  are  ye  cackling  at  ?  "  remonstrated  the  spark. 
"  I  desire  to  know  how  'tis  that  one  moment  a  gentleman 
is  out  yonder  a-pricking  of  African  beef,  and  the  next 
moment "  — 

Gerard }s  lady.    Disporting  in  his  native  stream. 


194  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  Tell  trim  not,  a  soul  of  ye  !  n  cried  Vanucci.  "  Let 
him  find  out's  own  riddle." 

"Confound  ye  all.  I  might  puzzle  my  brains  till 
doomsday,  I  should  ne'er  find  it  out.    Also,  where  is  my 

sword  ?  " 

Gerard's  lady.  Ask  Tiber !  Your  best  way,  signor, 
will  be  to  do  it  over  again ;  and,  in  a  word,  keep  pricking 
of  Afric's  beef,  till  your  mind  receives  light.  So  shall 
you  comprehend  the  matter  by  degrees,  as  lawyers  mount 
heaven,  and  buffaloes  Tiber. 

Here  a  chevalier  remarked  that  the  last  speaker  tran- 
scended the  sons  of  Adam  as  much  in  wit  as  she  did  the 
daughters  of  Eve  in  beauty. 

At  which,  and  indeed  at  all  their  compliments,  the 
conduct  of  Pietro  Vanucci  was  peculiar.  That  signor 
had  left  off  staring  and  gaping  bewildered,  and  now  sat 
coiled  up  snake-like,  on  a  bench,  his  mouth  muffled,  and 
two  bright  eyes  fixed  on  the  lady,  and  twinkling  and 
scintillating  most  comically. 

He  did  not  appear  to  interest  or  amuse  her  in  return. 
Her  glorious  eyes  and  eyelashes  swept  him  calmly  at 
times,  but  scarce  distinguished  him  from  the  benches 
and  things. 

Presently  the  unanimity  of  the  party  suffered  a 
momentary  check. 

Mortified  by  the  attention  the  cavaliers  paid  to  Ge- 
rard's companion,  the  ladies  began  to  pick  her  to  pieces 
sotto  voce,  and  audibly. 

The  lovely  girl  then  showed  that,  if  rich  in  beaut}*, 
she  was  poor  in  feminine  tact.  Instead  of  revenging 
herself  like  a  true  woman  through  the  men,  she  permitted 
herself  to  overhear,  and  openly  retaliate  on  her  detract- 
ors. 

"  There  is  not  one  of  you  that  wears  Nature's  colors," 
said  she.    "  Look  here  !  "  and  she  pointed  rudely  in  one's 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


195 


face.  "  This  is  the  beauty  that  is  to  be  bought  in  every 
shop.  Here  is  cerussa,  here  is  stibium,  and  here  pur- 
purissum.  Oh,  I  know  the  articles :  bless  you !  I  use 
them  every  day,  —  but  not  on  my  face,  no,  thank  you." 

Here  Vanucci's  eyes  twinkled  themselves  nearly  out 
of  sight. 

"  Why,  your  lips  are  colored,  and  the  very  veins  in 
your  forehead  :  not  a  charm  but  would  come  off  with  a 
wet  towel.  And  look  at  your  great  coarse  black  hair 
like  a  horse's  tail,  drugged  and  stained  to  look  like  tow. 
And  then  your  bodies  are  as  false  as  your  heads  and 
your  cheeks,  and  your  hearts  I  trow.  Look  at  your 
padded  bosoms,  and  your  wooden-heeled  chopines  to 
raise  your  little  stunted  limbs  up  and  deceive  the  world. 
Skinny  dwarfs  ye  are,  cushioned  and  stiltified  into  great 
fat  giants.  Aha,  mesdames,  well  is  it  said  of  you, 
grande  —  di  legni :  grosse  —  di  straci :  rosse  —  di  bettito  : 
bianche  —  di  calcina" 

This  drew  out  a  rejoinder.  "Avaunt,  vulgar  toad, 
telling  the  men  everything.  Your  coarse,  ruddy  cheeks 
are  your  own,  and  your  little  handful  of  African  hair. 
But  who  is  padded  more  ?  Why,  you  are  shaped  like  a 
fire-shovel." 

"  Ye  lie,  malapert." 

"  Oh  the  well-educated  young  person !  Where  didst 
pick  her  up,  Ser  Gerard  ?  " 

"  Hold  thy  peace,  Marcia,"  said  Gerard,  awakened  by 
the  raised  trebles  from  a  gloomy  reverie.  "Be  not  so 
insolent !  The  grave  shall  close  over  thy  beauty,  as  it 
hath  over  fairer  than  thee." 

"  They  began,"  said  Marcia  petulantly. 

"  Then  be  thou  the  first  to  leave  off." 

"At  thy  request,  my  friend."  She  then  whispered 
Gerard,  "  It  was  only  to  make  you  laugh  :  you  are  dis- 
traught, you  are  sad.    Judge  whether  I  care  for  the 


196  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


quips  of  these  little  fools,  or  the  admiration  of  these 
big  fools.  Dear  Signor  Gerard,  would  I  were  what  they 
take  me  for?  You  should  not  be  so  sad."  Gerard 
sighed  deeply,  and  shook  his  head.  but.  touched  by  the 
earnest  young  tones,  caressed  the  jet-black  locks,  much 
as  one  strokes  the  head  of  an  affectionate  dog. 

At  this  moment  a  galley  drifting  slowly  down  stream 
got  entangled  for  an  instant  in  their  ropes :  for.  the  river 
turning  suddenly,  they  had  shot  out  into  the  stream,  and 
this  galley  came  between  them  and  the  bank.  In  it  a 
lady  of  great  beauty  was  seated  under  a  canopy,  with 
gallants  and  dependents  standing  behind  her. 

Gerard  looked  up  at  the  interruption.  It  was  the 
Princess  Claelia. 

He  colored,  and  withdrew  his  hand  from  Mareia's 
head. 

Marcia  was  all  admiration.  ■'•  Aha  !  ladies,"  said  she. 
°  here  is  a  rival  an  ye  will  Those  cheeks  were  colored 
by  Xature  — like  mine." 

"Peace,  child,  peace  !  "  said  Gerard.  "Make  not  too 
free  with  the  great." 

••"Why.  she  heard  me  not.  Oh.  Ser  Gerard,  what  a 
lovely  creature  !  " 

Two  of  the  females  had  been  for  some  time  past  put- 
ting their  heads  together  and  casting  glances  at  Marcia. 

One  of  them  now  addressed  her. 

"Signorina.  do  you  love  almonds  ?" 

The  speaker  had  a  lapful  of  them. 

••Yes.  I  love  them,  when  I  can  get  them,"  said  Mar- 
cia pettishly,  and  eying  the  fruit  with  ill-concealed 
desire  ;  "  but  yours  is  not  the  hand  to  give  me  any,  I 
trow." 

"You  are  much  mistook,"  said  the  other.  "Here, 
catch  !  "  and  suddenly  threw  a  double  handful  into  Mar- 
cia's  lap. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  197 


Marcia  brought  her  knees  together  by  an  irresistible 
instinct. 

"  Aha  !  you  are  caught,  my  lad,"  cried  she  of  the  nuts. 
"'Tis  a  man,  or  a  boy.  A  woman  still  parteth  her 
knees  to  catch  the  nuts  the  surer  in  her  apron,  but  a 
man  closeth  his  for  fear  they  should  fall  between  his 
hose.  Confess,  now,  didst  never  wear  fardingale  ere 
to-day." 

"  Give  me  another  handful,  sweetheart,  and  I'll  tell 
thee." 

"  There  !  I  said  he  was  too  handsome  for  a  woman." 

"  Ser  Gerard,  they  have  found  me  out,"  observed  the 
Epicsene,  calmly  cracking  an  almond. 

The  libertines  vowed  it  was  impossible,  and  all  glared 
at  the  goddess  like  a  battery.  But  Vanucci  struck  in, 
and  reminded  the  gaping  gazers  of  a  recent  controversy, 
in  which  they  had,  with  an  unanimity  not  often  found 
among  dunces,  laughed  Gerard  and  him  to  scorn  for 
saying  that  men  were  as  beautiful  as  women  in  a  true 
artist's  eye. 

"  Where  are  ye  now  ?  This  is  my  boy  Andrea.  And 
you  have  all  been  down  on  your  knees  to  him.  Ha !  ha  ! 
But  oh,  my  little  ladies,  when  he  lectured  you  and  flung 
your  stibium,  your  cerussa,  and  your  purpurissum  back 
in  your  faces,  'tis  then  I  was  like  to  burst :  a  grinds  my 
colors.    Ha  !  ha !  he  !  he  !  he  !  ho  !  " 

"  The  little  impostor !    Duck  him  ! " 

"  What  for,  signors  ? "  cried  Andrea  in  dismay,  and 
lost  his  rich  carnation. 

But  the  females  collected  round  him,  and  vowed 
nobody  should  harm  a  hair  of  his  head. 

"  The  dear  child !  How  well  his  pretty  little  saucy 
ways  become  him." 

"  Oh,  what  eyes,  and  teeth  ! " 

"  And  what  eyebrows  and  hair ! 99 


198  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  And  what  lashes  !  " 

"  And  what  a  nose  !  " 

"  The  sweetest  little  ear  in  the  world ! " 

"  And  what  health !  Touch  but  his  cheek  with  a  pin, 
the  blood  should  squirt." 

"  Who  would  be  so  cruel  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  rosebud  washed  in  dew." 

And  they  revenged  themselves  for  their  beaux'  ad- 
miration of  her  by  lavishing  all  their  tenderness  on 
him. 

But  one  there  was  who  was  still  among  these  butter- 
flies, but  no  longer  of  them. 

The  sight  of  the  Princess  Claelia  had  torn  open  his 
wound. 

Scarce  three  months  ago  he  had  declined  the  love  of 
that  peerless  creature,  —  a  love  illicit  and  insane,  but  at 
least  refined.    How  much  lower  had  he  fallen  now  ! 

How  happy  he  must  have  been  when  the  blandish- 
ments of  Clselia,  that  might  have  melted  an  anchorite, 
could  not  tempt  him  from  the  path  of  loyalty  ! 

Now  what  was  he  ?  He  had  blushed  at  her  seeing 
him  in  such  company.    Yet  it  was  his  daily  company. 

He  hung  over  the  boat  in  moody  silence. 

And  from  that  hour  another  phase  of  his  misery 
began,  and  grew  upon  him. 

Some  wretched  fools  try  to  drown  care  in  drink. 

The  fumes  of  intoxication  vanish :  the  inevitable  care 
remains,  and  must  be  faced  at  last,  —  with  an  aching 
head,  a  disordered  stomach,  and  spirits  artificially  de- 
pressed. 

Gerard's  conduct  had  been  of  a  piece  with  these 
maniacs'.  To  survive  his  terrible  blow  he  needed  all  his 
forces:  his  virtue,  his  health,  his  habits  of  labor,  and 
the  calm  sleep  that  is  labor's  satellite;  above  all,  his 
piety. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  199 


Yet  all  these  balms  to  wounded  hearts  he  flung  away, 
and  trusted  to  moral  intoxication. 

Its  brief  fumes  fled :  the  bereaved  heart  lay  still 
heavy  as  lead  within  his  bosom,  but  now  the  dark  vult- 
ure Remorse  sat  upon  it  rending  it. 

Broken  health ;  means  wasted ;  innocence  fled ;  Mar- 
garet parted  from  him  by  another  gulf  wider  than  the 
grave. 

The  hot  fit  of  despair  passed  away. 
The  cold  fit  of  despair  came  on. 

Then  this  miserable  young  man  spurned  his  gay  com- 
panions, and  all  the  world. 

He  wandered  alone.  He  drank  wine  alone  to  stupefy 
himself,  and  paralyze  a  moment  the  dark  foes  to  man 
that  preyed  upon  his  soul.  He  wandered  alone  amidst 
the  temples  of  old  Eome,  and  lay  stony-eyed,  woe- 
begone,  among  their  ruins,  worse  wrecked  than  they. 

Last  of  all  came  the  climax  to  which  solitude,  that 
gloomy  yet  fascinating  foe  of  minds  diseased,  pushes  the 
hopeless. 

He  wandered  alone  at  night  by  dark  streams,  and  eyed 
them,  and  eyed  them,  with  decreasing  repugnance.  There 
glided  peace ;  perhaps  annihilation. 

What  else  was  left  him  ? 

These  dark  spells  have  been  broken  by  kind  words,  by 
loving  and  cheerful  voices. 

The  humblest  friend  the  afflicted  one  possesses  may 
speak,  or  look,  or  smile,  a  sunbeam  between  him  and  that 
worst  madness.    Gerard  now  brooded. 

Where  was  Teresa?  Where  his  hearty,  kind  old 
landlady  ? 

They  would  see  with  their  homely  but  swift  intelli- 
gence ;  they  would  see  and  save. 

No ;  they  knew  not  where  he  was,  or  whither  he  was 
gliding. 


200  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


And  is  there  no  mortal  eye  upon  the  poor  wretch,  and 
the  dark  road  he  is  going  ? 

Yes :  one  eye  there  is  upon  him,  watching  his  every 
movement,  following  him  abroad,  tracking  him  home. 

Aud  that  eye  is  the  eye  of  an  enemy. 

An  enemy  to  the  death. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  201 


CHAPTER  XV. 

In  an  apartment  richly  furnished,  the  floor  covered 
with  striped  and  spotted  skins  of  animals,  a  lady  sat 
with  her  arms  extended  before  her,  and  her  hands  half 
clenched.  The  agitation  of  her  face  corresponded  with 
this  attitude  :  she  was  pale  and  red  by  turns,  and  her 
foot  restless. 

Presently  the  curtain  was  drawn  by  a  domestic. 

The  lady's  brow  flushed. 

The  maid  said,  in  an  awe-struck  whisper,  "Altezza, 
the  man  is  here." 

The  lady  bade  her  admit  him,  and  snatched  up  a  little 
black  mask  and  put  it  on  ;  and  in  a  moment  her  color 
was  gone,  and  the  contrast  between  her  black  mask  and 
her  marble  cheeks  was  strange  and  fearful. 

A  man  entered  bowing  and  scraping.  It  was  such  a 
figure  as  crowds  seem  made  of:  short  hair,  roundish 
head,  plain  but  decent  clothes :  features  neither  comely 
nor  forbidding.  Nothing  to  remark  in  him  but  a  singu- 
larly restless  eye. 

After  a  profusion  of  bows  he  stood  opposite  the  lady, 
and  awaited  her  pleasure. 

"  They  have  told  you  for  what  you  are  wanted  ?  " 

"Yes,  signora." 

"  Did  those  who  spoke  to  you  agree  as  to  what  you  are 
to  receive  ? 

"  Yes,  signora.  ?Tis  the  full  price,  and  purchases  the 
greater  vendetta,  unless  of  your  benevolence  you  choose 
to  content  yourself  with  the  lesser." 

"  I  understand  you  not,"  said  the  lady. 


202 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  Ah. !  this  is  the  signora's  first.  The  lesser  vendetta, 
lady,  is  the  death  of  the  body  only.  We  watch  our  man 
come  out  of  a  church,  or  take  him  in  an  innocent  hour, 
and  so  deal  with  him.  In  the  greater  vendetta  we  watch 
him,  and  catch  Kim  hot  from  some  unrepented  sin,  and 
so  slay  his  soul  as  well  as  his  body.  But  this  vendetta  is 
not  so  run  upon  now  as  it  was  a  few  years  ago/"' 

"  Man,  silence  me  his  tongue,  and  let  his  treasonable 
heart  beat  no  more.    But  his  soul  I  have  no  feud  with." 

"  So  be  it,  signora.  He  who  spoke  to  me  knew  not 
the  man,  nor  his  name,  nor  his  abode.  From  whom  shall 
I  learn  these  ?  93 

"  From  myself." 

At  this  the  man,  with  the  first  symptoms  of  anxiety 
he  had  shown,  entreated  her  to  be  cautious  and  particu- 
lar in  this  part  of  the  business. 

"  Fear  me  not,"  said  she.  "  Listen.  It  is  a  young 
man,  tall  of  stature,  and  auburn  hair,  and  dark-blue  eyes, 
and  an  honest  face,  would  deceive  a  saint.  He  lives  in 
Via  Claudia,  at  the  corner  house :  the  glover's.  In  that 
house  there  lodge  but  three  males  :  he.  and  a  painter 
short  of  stature  and  dark  visaged,  and  a  }'oung,  slim 
boy.  He  that  hath  betrayed  me  is  a  stranger,  fair,  and 
taller  than  thou  art." 

The  bravo  listened  with  all  his  ears.  "  It  is  enough," 
said  he.  "  Stay,  signora  ;  haunteth  he  any  secret  place 
where  I  may  deal  with  him  ?  93 

"My  spy  doth  report  me,  he  hath  of  late  frequented 
the  banks  of  Tiber  after  dusk ;  doubtless  to  meet  his 
light  o'  love,  who  calls  me  her  rival ;  even  there  slay 
him  !  and  let  my  rival  come  and  find  him ;  the  smooth, 
heartless,  insolent  traitor." 

"  Be  calm,  signora.    He  will  betray  no  more  ladies." 

"  I  know  not  that.  He  weareth  a  sword,  and  can  use 
it.    He  is  young  and  resolute." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  203 


"Neither  will  avail  him." 

"  Are  ye  so  sure  of  your  hand  ?  What  are  your 
weapons  ?  n 

The  bravo  showed  her  a  steel  gauntlet.  "  We  strike 
with  such  force,  we  need  must  guard  our  hand.  This  is 
our  mallet."  He  then  undid  his  doublet,  and  gave  her  a 
glimpse  of  a  coat  of  mail  beneath,  and  finally  laid  his 
glittering  stiletto  on  the  table  with  a  flourish. 

The  lady  shuddered  at  first,  but  presently  took  it  up 
in  her  white  hand  and  tried  its  point  against  her  finger. 

"  Beware,  madam,"  said  the  bravo. 

"  What,  is  it  poisoned  ?  " 

"  Saints  forbid  !  We  steal  no  lives.  We  take  them 
with  steel  point,  not  drugs.  But  'tis  newly  ground,  and 
I  feared  for  the  signora's  white  skin." 

"  His  skin  is  as  white  as  mine,"  said  she,  with  a  sud- 
den gleam  of  pity.  It  lasted  but  a  moment.  "  But  his 
heart  is  as  black  as  soot.  Say,  do  I  not  well  to  remove 
a  traitor  that  slanders  me  ?  " 

"  The  signora  will  settle  that  with  her  confessor.  I 
am  but  a  tool  in  noble  hands ;  like  my  stiletto." 

The  princess  appeared  not  to  hear  the  speaker.  "  Oh, 
how  I  could  have  loved  him :  to  the  death ;  as  now  I 
hate  him.  Fool !  he  will  learn  to  trifle  with  princes  ; 
to  spurn  them  and  fawn  on  them,  and  prefer  the  scum 
of  the  town  to  them,  and  make  them  a  by-word."  She 
looked  up :  "  Why  loiter'st  thou  here  ?  haste  thee,  re- 
venge me." 

"  It  is  customary  to  pay  half  the  price  beforehand, 
signora." 

"  Ah,  I  forgot ;  thy  revenge  is  bought.  Here  is  more 
than  half,"  and  she  pushed  a  bag  across  the  table  to  him. 
"  When  the  blow  is  struck,  come  for  the  rest." 

"You  will  soon  see  me  again,  signora." 

And  he  retired  bowing  and  scraping. 


204 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


The  princess,  burning  with  jealousy,  mortified  pride, 
and  dread  of  exposure  (for  till  she  knew  Gerard  no 
public  stain  had  fallen  on  her),  sat  where  he  left  her, 
masked,  with  her  arms  straight  out  before  her,  and  the 
nails  of  her  clenched  hand  nipping  the  table. 

So  sat  the  fabled  sphinx ;  so  sits  a  tigress. 

Yet  there  crept  a  chill  upon  her,  now  that  the  assassin 
was  gone.  And  moody  misgivings  heaved  within  her, 
precursors  of  vain  remorse.  Gerard  and  Margaret  were 
before  their  age.  This  was  your  true  mediaeval.  Proud, 
amorous,  vindictive,  generous,  foolish,  cunning,  impul- 
sive, unprincipled ;  and  ignorant  as  dirt. 

Power  is  the  curse  of  such  a  creature. 

Forced  to  do  her  own  crimes,  the  weakness  of  her 
nerves  would  have  balanced  the  violence  of  her  passions, 
and  her  bark  been  worse  than  her  bite.  But  power 
gives  a  feeble,  furious  woman,  male  instruments.  And 
the  effect  is  as  terrible  as  the  combination  is  unnatural. 

In  this  instance  it  whetted  an  assassin's  dagger  for  a 
poor  forlorn  wretch  just  meditating  suicide. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  205 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

It  happened,  two  days  after  the  scene  I  have  endeav- 
ored to  describe,  that  Gerard,  wandering  through  one 
of  the  meanest  streets  in  Rome,  was  overtaken  by  a 
thunderstorm,  and  entered  a  low  hostelry.  He  called 
for  wine,  and,  the  rain  continuing,  soon  drank  himself 
into  a  half-stupid  condition,  and  dozed  with  his  head  on 
his  hands,  and  his  hands  upon  the  table. 

In  course  of  time  the  room  began  to  fill,  and  the  noise 
of  the  rude  guests  to  wake  him. 

Then  it  was  he  became  conscious  of  two  figures  near 
him  conversing  in  a  low  voice. 

One  was  a  pardoner.  The  other  by  his  dress,  clean 
but  modest,  might  have  passed  for  a  decent  tradesman ; 
but  the  way  he  had  slouched  his  hat  over  his  brows  so  as 
to  hide  all  his  face  except  his  beard,  showed  he  was  one 
of  those  who  shun  the  eye  of  honest  men,  and  of  the 
law.  The  pair  were  driving  a  bargain  in  the  sin  market. 
And  by  an  arrangement  not  uncommon  at  that  date,  the 
crime  to  be  forgiven  was  yet  to  be  committed  —  under 
the  celestial  contract. 

He  of  the  slouched  hat  was  complaining  of  the  price 
pardons  had  reached.  "  If  they  go  up  any  higher  we 
poor  fellows  shall  be  shut  out  of  heaven  altogether." 

The  pardoner  denied  the  charge  flatly.  "  Indulgences 
were  never  cheaper  to  good  husbandmen." 

The  other  inquired,  "  Who  were  they  ?  " 

"Why,  such  as  sin  by  the  market  like  reasonable 
creatures.  But  if  you  will  be  so  perverse  as  go  and  pick 
out  a  crime  the  Pope  hath  set  his  face  against,  blame 
yourself,  not  me." 


206  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


Then  to  prove  that  crime  of  one  sort  or  another  was 
within  the  means  of  all  but  the  very  scum  of  society,  he 
read  out  the  scale  from  a  written  parchment. 

It  was  a  curious  list :  but  not  one  that  could  be 
printed  in  this  book.  And  to  mutilate  it  would  be  to 
misrepresent  it.  It  is  to  be  found  in  any  great  library. 
Suffice  it  to  say  that  murder  of  a  layman  was  much 
cheaper  than  many  crimes  my  lay  readers  would  deem 
light  by  comparison. 

This  told  ;  and,  by  a  little  trifling  concession  on  each 
side,  the  bargain  was  closed,  the  money  handed  over,  and 
the  aspirant  to  heaven's  favor  forgiven  beforehand  for 
removing  one  layman.  The  price  for  disposing  of  a  clerk 
bore  no  proportion. 

The  word  "  assassination  "  was  never  once  uttered  by 
either  merchant. 

All  this  buzzed  in  Gerard's  ear.  But  he  never  lifted 
his  head  from  the  table ;  only  listened  stupidly. 

However,  when  the  parties  rose  and  separated,  he  half 
raised  his  head,  and  eyed  with  a  scowl  the  retiring  figure 
of  the  purchaser. 

"  If  Margaret  was  alive,"  muttered  he,  "  I'd  take  thee 
by  the  throat  and  throttle  thee,  thou  cowardly  stabber. 
But  she  is  dead !  dead  !  dead.  Die  all  the  world ;  'tis 
not  to  me  ;  so  that  I  die  among  the  first." 

When  he  got  home  there  was  a  man  in  a  slouched  hat 
walking  briskly  to  and  fro  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
way. 

"  Why,  there  is  that  cur  again,"  thought  Gerard. 
But  in  his  state  of  mind,  the  circumstance  made  no 
impression  whatever  on  him. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


207 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Two  nights  after  this  Pietro  Vanucci  and  Andrea  sat 
waiting  supper  for  Gerard. 

The  former  grew  peevish.  It  was  past  nine  o'clock. 
At  last  he  sent  Andrea  to  Gerard's  room  on  the  desperate 
chance  of  his  having  come  in  unobserved.  Andrea 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  went. 

He  returned  without  Gerard,  but  with  a  slip  of  paper. 
Andrea  could  not  read,  as  scholars  in  his  day,  and  charity 
boys  in  ours,  understand  the  art ;  but  he  had  a  quick  eye, 
and  had  learned  how  the  words  Pietro  Vanucci  looked 
on  paper. 

"  That  is  for  you,  I  trow,"  said  he,  proud  of  his  in- 
telligence. 

Pietro  snatched  it,  and  read  it  to  Andrea,  with  his 
satirical  comments. 

*  '  Dear  Pietro,  dear  Andrea,  life  is  too  great  a  burden.' 

"  So  'tis,  my  lad  ;  but  that  is  no  reason  for  being  abroad 
at  supper-time.    Supper  is  not  a  burden. 

" '  Wear  my  habits ! ' 

"Said  the  poplar  to  the  juniper  bush. 

"  i  And  thou,  Andrea,  mine  amethyst  ring ;  and  me  in 
both  your  hearts  a  month  or  two.' 

"  Why,  Andrea?" 

"  '  For  my  body,  ere  this  ye  read,  it  will  lie  in  Tiber. 
Trouble  not  to  look  for  it.  'Tis  not  worth  the  pains. 
Oh,  unhappy  day  that  it  was  born ;  oh,  happy  night  that 
rids  me  of  it. 

"  '  Adieu !  adieu  ! 

"  i  The  broken-hearted  Gerard.' 


208 


THE  CLOISTER  AJND  THE  HEARTH. 


"Here  is  a  sorry  jest  of  the  peevish  rogue,"  said 
Pietro.  But  his  pale  cheek  and  chattering  teeth  belied 
his  words.    Andrea  filled  the  house  with  his  cries. 

"  0  miserable  day  !  0  calamity  of  calamities  !  Gerard, 
my  friend,  my  sweet  patron  !  Help  !  help  !  He  is  kill- 
ing himself !  Oh,  good  people,  help  me  save  him ! " 
And  after  alarming  all  the  house  he  ran  into  the  street, 
bareheaded,  imploring  all  good  Christians  to  help  him 
save  his  friend. 

A  number  of  persons  soon  collected. 

But  poor  Andrea  could  not  animate  their  sluggish- 
ness. Go  down  to  the  river  ?  Xo.  It  was  not  their 
business.  What  part  of  the  river  ?  It  was  a  wild-goose 
chase. 

It  was  not  lucky  to  go  down  to  the  river  after  sunset. 
Too  many  ghosts  walked  those  banks  all  night. 

A  lackey,  however,  who  had  been  standing  some  time 
opposite  the  house,  said  he  would  go  with  Andrea ;  and 
this  turned  three  or  four  of  the  younger  ones. 

The  little  band  took  the  way  to  the  river. 

The  lackey  questioned  Andrea. 

Andrea,  sobbing,  told  him  about  the  letter,  and 
Gerard's  moody  ways  of  late. 

That  lackey  was  a  spy  of  the  Princess  Claelia. 

Their  Italian  tongues  went  fast  till  they  neared  the 
Tiber. 

But  the  moment  they  felt  the  air  from  the  river,  and 
the  smell  of  the  stream  in  the  calm  spring  night,  they 
were  dead  silent. 

The  moon  shone  calm  and  clear  in  a  cloudless  sky. 
Their  feet  sounded  loud  and  ominous.  Their  tongues 
were  hushed. 

Presently  hurrying  round  a  corner  they  met  a  man. 
He  stopped  irresolute  at  sight  of  them. 

The  man  was  bareheaded,  and  his  dripping  hair  glis- 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  209 


tened  in  the  moonlight ;  and  at  the  next  step  they  saw 
his  clothes  were  drenched  with  water. 

"Here  he  is,"  cried  one  of  the  young  men,  unac- 
quainted with  Gerard's  face  and  figure. 

The  stranger  turned  instantly  and  fled. 

They  ran  after  him  might  and  main,  Andrea  leading, 
and  the  princess's  lackey  next. 

Andrea  gained  on  him  ;  but  in  a  moment  he  twisted 
up  a  narrow  alley.  Andrea  shot  by,  unable  to  check 
himself ;  and  the  pursuers  soon  found  themselves  in  a 
labyrinth  in  which  it  was  vain  to  pursue  a  quick-footed 
fugitive  who  knew  every  inch  of  it,  and  could  now  only 
be  followed  by  the  ear. 

They  returned  to  their  companions,  and  found  them 
standing  on  the  spot  where  the  man  had  stood,  and 
utterly  confounded.  For  Pietro  had  assured  them  that 
the  fugitive  had  neither  the  features  nor  the  stature  of 
Gerard. 

"  Are  ye  verily  sure  ? 99  said  they.  "  He  had  been  in 
the  river.  Why,  in  the  saints'  names,  fled  he  at  our 
approach  ?  " 

Then  said  Vanucci,  "Friends,  methinks  this  has 
nought  to  do  with  him  we  seek.  What  shall  we  do, 
Andrea  ?  " 

Here  the  lackey  put  in  his  word.  "  Let  us  track  him 
to  the  water's  side,  to  make  sure.  See,  he  hath  come 
dripping  all  the  way." 

This  advice  was  approved,  and  with  very  little  diffi- 
culty they  tracked  the  man's  course. 

But  soon  they  encountered  a  new  enigma. 

They  had  gone  scarcely  fifty  yards  ere  the  drops 
turned  away  from  the  river,  and  took  them  to  the  gate 
of  a  large  gloomy  building.    It  was  a  monastery. 

They  stood  irresolute  before  it,  and  gazed  at  the  dark 
pile.  It  seemed  to  them  to  hide  some  horrible  mystery 
14 


210 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


But  presently  Andrea  gave  a  shout.  "Here  be  the 
drops  again,"  cried  he.  "And  this  road  leadeth  to  the 
river." 

They  resumed  the  chase;  and  soon  it  became  clear 
the  drops  were  now  leading  them  home.  The  track  be- 
came wetter  and  wetter,  and  took  them  to  the  Tiber's 
edge.  And  there  on  the  bank  a  bucketful  appeared  to 
have  been  discharged  from  the  stream. 

At  first  they  shouted,  and  thought  they  had  made  a 
discovery ;  but  reflection  showed  them  it  amounted  to 
nothing.  Certainly  a  man  had  been  in  the  water,  and 
had  got  out  of  it  in  safety :  1  ut  that  man  was  not  Gerard. 
One  said  he  knew  a  fisherman  hard  by  that  had  nets 
and  drags.  They  found  the  fisher,  and  paid  him  liber- 
ally to  sink  nets  in  the  river  below  the  place,  and  to 
drag  it  above  and  below ;  and  promised  him  gold  should 
he  find  the  body.  Then  they  ran  vainly  up  and  down 
the  river,  which  flowed  so  calm  and  voiceless,  holding 
this  and  a  thousand  more  strange  secrets.  Suddenly 
Andrea,  with  a  ^ry  of  hope,  ran  back  to  the  house. 

He  returned  in  less  than  half  an  hour. 

"No,"  he  groaned,  and  wrung  his  hands. 

"  What  is  the  hour  ?  "  asked  the  lackey. 

"  Four  hours  past  midnight." 

"My  pretty  lad,"  said  the  lackey  solemnly,  "say  a 
mass  for  thy  friend's  soul :  for  he  is  not  among  living 
men." 

The  morning  broke.  Worn  out  with  fatigue,  Andrea 
and  Pietro  went  home,  heart-sick. 

The  days  rolled  on,  mute  as  the  Tiber  as  to  Gerard's 
fate. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


211 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

It  would  indeed  have  been  strange  if  with  such  barren 
data  as  they  possessed,  those  men  could  have  read  the 
handwriting  on  the  river's  bank. 

For  there  on  that  spot  an  event  had  just  occurred, 
which,  take  it  altogether,  was  perhaps  without  a  parallel 
in  the  history  of  mankind,  and  may  remain  so  to  the 
end  of  time. 

But  it  shall  be  told  in  a  very  few  words,  partly  by  me, 
and  partly  by  an  actor  in  the  scene. 

Gerard,  then,  after  writing  this  brief  adieu  to  Pietro 
and  Andrea,  had  stolen  down  to  the  river  at  nightfall. 

He  had  taken  his  measures  with  a  dogged  resolution 
not  uncommon  in  those  who  are  bent  on  self-destruction. 
He  filled  his  pockets  with  all  the  silver  and  copper  he 
possessed,  that  he  might  sink  the  surer;  and,  so  pro- 
vided, hurried  to  a  part  of  the  stream  that  he  had  seen 
was  little  frequented. 

There  are  some,  especially  women,  who  look  about  to 
make  sure  there  is  somebody  at  hand. 

But  this  resolute  wretch  looked  about  him  to  make 
sure  there  was  nobody. 

And,  to  his  annoyance,  he  observed  a  single  figure 
leaning  against  the  corner  of  an  alley.  So  he  affected 
to  stroll  carelessly  away ;  but  returned  to  the  spot. 

Lo  !  the  same  figure  emerged  from  a  side  street  and 
loitered  about. 

"  Can  he  be  watching  me  ?  Can  he  know  what  I  am 
here  for  ?  "  thought  Gerard.    "  Impossible  ! " 

He  went  briskly  off,  walked  along  a  street  or  two, 
made  a  detour  and  came  back. 


212  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

The  man  had  vanished.  But,  lo !  on  Gerard  looking 
all  round,  to  make  sure,  there  he  was  a  few  yards  behind, 
apparently  fastening  his  shoe. 

Gerard  saw  he  was  watched,  and  at  this  moment 
observed  in  the  moonlight  a  steel  gauntlet  in  his  senti- 
nel's hand. 

Then  he  knew  it  was  an  assassin. 

Strange  to  say,  it  never  occurred  to  him  that  his  was 
the  life  aimed  at.  To  be  sure,  he  was  not  aware  he  had 
an  enemy  in  the  world. 

He  turned  and  walked  up  to  the  bravo.  "  My  good 
friend,"  said  he  eagerly,  "  sell  me  thine  arm !  a  single 
stroke  !  See,  here  is  all  I  have ; "  and  he  forced  his 
money  into  the  bravo's  hands.  "  Oh,  prithee,  prithee  ! 
do  one  good  deed,  and  rid  me  of  my  hateful  life  !  "  and 
even  while  speaking  he  undid  his  doublet,  and  bared  his 
bosom. 

The  man  stared  in  his  face. 

"  Why  do  ye  hesitate  ?  "  shrieked  Gerard.  "  Have  ye 
no  bowels  ?  Is  it  so  much  pains  to  lift  your  arm  and 
fall  it  ?  Is  it  because  I  am  poor,  and  can't  give  ye  gold  ? 
Useless  wretch,  canst  only  strike  a  man  behind ;  not 
look  one  in  the  face.  There,  then,  do  but  turn  thy  head 
and  hold  thy  tongue  !  " 

And  with  a  snarl  of  contempt  he  ran  from  him,  and 
flung  himself  into  the  water. 

"  Margaret ! " 

At  the  heavy  plunge  of  his  body  in  the  stream,  the 
bravo  seemed  to  recover  from  a  stupor.  He  ran  to  the 
bank,  and  with  a  strange  cry  the  assassin  plunged  in 
after  the  self-destroyer. 

What  followed  will  be  related  by  the  assassin. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  213 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A  woman  has  her  own  troubles,  as  a  man  has  his. 

And  we  male  writers  seldom  do  more  than  indicate 
the  griefs  of  the  other  sex.  The  intelligence  of  the 
female  reader  must  come  to  our  aid,  and  fill '  up  our  cold 
outlines.  So  have  I  indicated,  rather  than  described, 
what  Margaret  Brandt  went  through  up  to  that  eventful 
day,  when  she  entered  Eli's  house  an  enemy,  read  her 
sweetheart's  letter,  and  remained  a  friend. 

And  now  a  woman's  greatest  trial  drew  near,  and 
Gerard  far  away. 

She  availed  herself  but  little  of  Eli's  sudden  favor; 
for  this  reserve  she  had  always  a  plausible  reason  ready ; 
and  never  hinted  at  the  true  one,  which  was  this  :  there 
were  two  men  in  that  house  at  sight  of  whom  she  shud- 
dered with  instinctive  antipathy  and  dread.  She  had 
read  wickedness  and  hatred  in  their  faces,  and  mysteri- 
ous signals  of  secret  intelligence.  She  preferred  to 
receive  Catherine  and  her  daughter  at  home.  The  for- 
mer went  to  see  her  every  day,  and  was  wrapped  up  in 
the  expected  event. 

Catherine  was  one  of  those  females  whose  office  is  to 
multiply,  and  rear  the  multiplied:  who,  when  at  last 
they  consent  to  leave  off  pelting  one  out  of  every  room 
in  the  house  with  babies,  hover  about  the  fair  scourges 
that  are  still  in  full  swing,  and  do  so  cluck,  they  seem  to 
multiply  by  proxy.  It  was  in  this  spirit  she  entreated 
Eli  to  let  her  stay  at  Rotterdam  while  he  went  back  ta 
Tergou. 

"  The  poor  lass  hath  not  a  soul  about  her,  that  knows 


214 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


anything  about  anything.  What  avail  a  pair  o'  soldiers  ? 
Why,  that  sort  o'  cattle  should  be  putten  out  o'  doors  the 
first,  at  such  an  a  time." 

Need  I  say  that  this  was  a  great  comfort  to  Margaret  ? 

Poor  soul,  she  was  full  of  anxiety  as  the  time  drew 
near. 

She  should  die ;  and  Gerard  away. 

But  things  balance  themselves.  Her  poverty,  and  her 
father's  helplessness,  which  had  cost  her  such  a  struggle, 
stood  her  in  good  stead  now. 

Adversity's  iron  hand  had  forced  her  to  battle  the 
lassitude  that  overpowers  the  rich  of  her  sex,  and  to  be 
forever  on  her  feet,  working.  She  kept  this  up  to  the 
last  by  Catherine's  advice. 

And  so  it  was,  that  one  fine  evening,  just  at  sunset, 
she  lay  weak  as  water,  but  safe ;  with  a  little  face  by 
her  side,  and  the  heaven  of  maternity  opening  on  her. 

"  Why  dost  weep,  sweetheart  ?    All  of  a  sudden  ?  " 

"He  is  not  here  to  see  it." 

"Ah,  well,  lass,  he  will  be  here  ere  'tis  weaned. 
Meantime,  God  hath  been  as  good  to  thee  as  to  e'er  a 
woman  born;  and  do  but  bethink  thee  it  might  have 
been  a  girl :  didn't  my  very  own  Kate  threaten  me  with 
one  !  and  here  we  have  got  the  bonniest  boy  in  Holland, 
and  a  rare  heavy  one,  the  saints  be  praised  for't." 

"Ay,  mother,  I  am  but  a  sorry,  ungrateful  wretch  to 
weep.  If  only  Gerard  were  here  to  see  it.  'Tis  strange  ; 
I  bore  him  well  enow  to  be  away  from  me  in  my  sorrow ; 
but  oh,  it  doth  seem  so  hard  he  should  not  share  my 
joy.  Prithee,  prithee,  come  to  me,  Gerard !  dear,  dear 
Gerard  ! "    And  she  stretched  out  her  feeble  arms. 

Catherine  bustled  about,  but  avoided  Margaret's  eyes ; 
for  she  could  not  restrain  her  own  tears  at  hearing  her 
own  absent  child  thus  earnestly  addressed. 

Presently,  turning  round,  she  found  Margaret  look- 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  215 


ing  at  her  with,  a  singular  expression.  "  Heard  you 
nought  ?" 

"No,  my  lamb.  What?" 

"  I  did  cry  on  Gerard,  but  now." 

"  Ay,  ay,  sure  I  heard  that." 

"  Well,  he  answered  me." 

"  Tush,  girl :  say  not  that." 

"  Mother,  as  sure  as  I  lie  here,  with  his  boy  by  my 
side,  his  voice  came  back  to  me,  i  Margaret ! '  So.  Yet 
methought  'twas  not  his  happy  voice.  But  that  might 
be  the  distance.  All  voices  go  off  sad  like  at  a  distance. 
Why  art  not  happy,  sweetheart?  and  I  so  happy  this 
night  ?  Mother,  I  seem  never  to  have  felt  a  pain  or 
known  a  care."  And  her  sweet  eyes  turned  and  gloated 
on  the  little  face  in  silence. 

That  very  night  Gerard  flung  himself  into  the  Tiber. 
And,  bhat  very  hour  she  heard  him  speak  her  name,  he 
cried  aloud  in  death's  jaws  and  despair's : 

"  Margaret ! " 

Account  for  it,  those  who  can.    I  cannot. 


216 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

In  the  guest  chamber  of  a  Dominican  convent  lay  a 
single  stranger,  exhausted  by  successive  and  violent  fits 
of  nausea,  which  had  at  last  subsided,  leaving  him 
almost  as  weak  as  Margaret  lay  that  night  in  Holland. 

A  huge  wood  fire  burned  on  the  hearth,  and  beside  it 
hung  the  patient's  clothes. 

A  gigantic  friar  sat  by  his  bedside  reading  pious  col- 
lects aloud  from  his  breviary. 

The  patient  at  times  eyed  him,  and  seemed  to  listen ; 
at  others  closed  his  eyes  and  moaned. 

The  monk  kneeled  down  with  his  face  touching  the 
ground,  and  prayed  for  him  :  then  rose  and  bade  him 
farewell.  "  Day  breaks,"  said  he,  "  I  must  prepare  for 
matins." 

"Good  father  Jerome,  before  you  go,  how  came  I 
hither  ?  " 

"  By  the  hand  of  heaven.  You  flung  away  God's  gift. 
He  bestowed  it  on  you  again.  Think  on  it !  Hast  tried 
the  world  and  found  its  gall.  Now  try  the  Church.  The 
Church  is  peace.    Pax  vobisciim." 

He  was  gone.  Gerard  lay  back,  meditating  and  won- 
dering, till  weak  and  wearied  he  fell  into  a  doze. 

When  he  awoke  again  he  found  a  new  nurse  seated 
beside  him.  It  was  a  layman,  with  an  eye  as  small  and 
restless  as  Friar  Jerome's  was  calm  and  majestic. 

The  man  inquired  earnestly  how  he  felt. 

"Very,  very  weak.  Where  have  I  seen  you  before, 
messer  ?  " 

"None  the  worse  for  my  gauntlet?"  inquired  the 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  217 


other,  with  considerable  anxiety ;  "  I  was  fain  to  strike 
you  withal,  or  both  you  and  I  should  be  at  the  bottom 
of  Tiber." 

Gerard  stared  at  him.  "  What,  'twas  you  saved  me  ? 
How  ?  " 

"  Well,  signor,  I  was  by  the  banks  of  Tiber  on  —  on 
—  an  errand,  no  matter  what.  You  came  to  me,  and 
begged  hard  for  a  dagger  stroke.  But  ere  I  could  oblige 
you,  ay,  even  as  you  spoke  to  me,  I  knew  you  for  the 
signor  that  saved  my  wife  and  child  upon  the  sea." 

"  It  is  Teresa's  husband.    And  an  assassin  !  " 

"At  your  service.  Well,  Ser  Gerard,  the  next  thing 
was,  you  flung  yourself  into  Tiber,  and  bade  me  hold 
aloof." 

"  I  remember  that." 

"  Had  it  been  any  but  you,  believe  me  I  had  obeyed 
you,  and  not  wagged  a  finger.  Men  are  my  foes.  They 
may  all  hang  on  one  rope,  or  drown  in  one  river,  for  me. 
But  when  thou,  sinking  in  Tiber,  didst  cry  6  Margaret ! '  " 

"Ah!" 

"  My  heart  it  cried  '  Teresa ! '  How  could  I  go  home 
and  look  her  in  the  face,  did  I  let  thee  die,  and  by  the 
very  death  thou  savedst  her  from  ?  So  in  I  went :  and 
luckily  for  us  both  I  swim  like  a  duck.  You,  seeing  me 
near,  and  being  bent  on  destruction,  tried  to  grip  me, 
and  so  end  us  both.  But  I  swam  round  thee,  and  (re- 
ceive my  excuses)  so  buffeted  thee  on  the  nape  of  the 
neck  with  my  steel  glove,  that  thou  lost  sense,  and  I 
with  much  ado,  the  stream  being  strong,  did  draw  thy 
body  to  land,  but  insensible  and  full  of  water.  Then  I 
took  thee  on  my  back  and  made  for  my  own  home. 
( Teresa  will  nurse  him,  and  be  pleased  with  me/  thought 
I.  But,  hard  by  this  monastery,  a  holy  friar,  the  biggest 
e'er  I  saw,  met  us,  and  asked  the  matter.  So  I  told  him. 
He  looked  hard  at  thee.    1 1  know  the  face/  quoth  he. 


218  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"Tis  one  Gerard,  a  fair  youth  from  Holland.'  'The 
same,'  quo'  I.  Then  said  his  reverence,  '  He  hath  friends 
among  our  brethren.  Leave  him  with  us.  Charity,  it 
is  our  office.' 

"Also  he  told  me  they  of  the  convent  had  better  means 
to  tend  thee  than  I  had.  And  that  was  true  enow.  So 
I  just  bargained  to  be  let  in  to  see  thee  once  a  day,  and 
here  thou  art." 

And  the  miscreant  cast  a  strange  look  of  affection  and 
interest  upon  Gerard. 

Gerard  did  not  respond  to  it.  He  felt  as  if  a  snake 
were  in  the  room.    He  closed  his  eyes. 

"Ah,  thou  wouldst  sleep,"  said  the  miscreant,  eagerly, 
"  I  go."  And  he  retired  on  tip-toe  with  a  promise  to 
come  every  day. 

Gerard  lay  with  his  eyes  closed :  not  asleep,  but  deeply 
pondering. 

Saved  from  death  by  an  assassin  ! 

Was  not  this  the  finger  of  Heaven  ? 

Of  that  Heaven  he  had  insulted,  cursed,  and  de- 
fied. 

He  shuddered  at  his  blasphemies.  He  tried  to 
pray. 

He  found  he  could  utter  prayers.  But  he  could  not 
pray. 

"I  am  doomed  eternally,"  he  cried,  "doomed,  doomed." 

The  organ  of  the  convent  church  burst  on  his  ear  in 
rich  and  solemn  harmony. 

Then  rose  the  voices  of  the  choir  chanting  a  full 
service. 

Among  them  was  one  that  seemed  to  hover  above  the 
others,  and  tower  towards  heaven ;  a  sweet  boy's  voice, 
full,  pure,  angelic. 

He  closed  his  eyes  and  listened.  The  days  of  his  own 
boyhood  flowed  back  upon  him  in  those  sweet,  pious  har- 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


219 


monies.  No  earthly  dross  there,  no  foul,  fierce  passions, 
rending  and  corrupting  the  soul. 

Peace,  peace  ;  sweet,  balmy  peace. 

"  Ay,"  he  sighed,  "  the  Church  is  peace  of  mind.  Till 
I  left  her  bosom  I  ne'er  knew  sorrow  nor  sin." 

And  the  poor,  torn,  worn  creature  wept. 

And,  even  as  he  wept,  there  beamed  on  him  the  sweet 
and  reverend  face  of  one  he  had  never  thought  to  see 
again.    It  was  the  face  of  Father  Anselm. 

The  good  father  had  only  reached  the  convent  the 
night  before  last.  Gerard  recognized  him  in  a  moment, 
and  cried  to  him,  "  0  Father  Anselm  !  you  cured  my 
wounded  body  in  Juliers,  now  cure  my  hurt  soul  in 
Rome  !    Alas,  you  cannot ! " 

Anselm  sat  down  by  the  bedside,  and,  putting  a  gentle 
hand  on  his  head,  first  calmed  him  with  a  soothing  word 
or  two. 

He  then  (for  he  had  learned  how  Gerard  came  there) 
spoke  to  him  kindly  but  solemnly,  and  made  him  feel  his 
crime,  and  urged  him  to  repentance  and  gratitude  to  that 
Divine  Power,  which  had  thwarted  his  will  to  save  his 
soul. 

"Come,  my  son,"  said  he,  "first  purge  thy  bosom  of  its 
load." 

"  Ah,  father,"  said  Gerard,  "  in  Juliers  I  could ;  then 
I  was  innocent ;  but  now,  impious  monster  that  I  am,  I 
dare  not  confess  to  you." 

"Why  not,  my  son  ?  Thinkest  thou  I  have  not  sinned 
against  Heaven  in  my  time,  and  deeply,  oh,  how  deeply  ? 
Come,  poor  laden  soul,  pour  forth  thy  grief,  pour  forth 
thy  faults  ;  hold  back  nought !  Lie  not  oppressed  and 
crushed  by  hidden  sins." 

And  soon  Gerard  was  at  Father  Anselm's  knees,  con- 
fessing his  every  sin  with  sighs  and  groans  of  penitence. 

"  Thy  sins  are  great,"  said  Anselm.    "  Thy  temptation 


220  THE  CLOISTER  A2STD  THE  HEARTH. 


also  was  great,  terribly  great.  I  must  consult  our  good 
prior." 

The  good  Anselm  kissed  his  brow,  and  left  him  to 
consult  the  superior  as  to  his  penance. 
And  lo  !  Gerard  could  pray  now. 
And  he  prayed  with  all  his  heart. 

The  phase  through  which  this  remarkable  mind  now 
passed,  may  be  summed  in  a  word  —  Penitence. 

He  turned  with  terror  and  aversion  from  the  world, 
and  begged  passionately  to  remain  in  the  convent.  To 
him,  convent  nurtured,  it  was  like  a  bird  returning 
wounded,  wearied,  to  its  gentle  nest. 

He  passed  his  novitiate  in  prayer  and  mortification, 
and  pious  reading  and  meditation. 

The  Princess  Clselia's  spy  went  home  and  told  her 
that  Gerard  was  certainly  dead,  the  manner  of  his  death 
unknown  at  present. 

She  seemed  literally  stunned. 

"When,  after  a  long  time,  she  found  breath  to  speak  at 
all,  it  was  to  bemoan  her  lot,  cursed  with  such  ready 
tools.  "  So  soon,"  she  sighed ;  "  see  how  swift  these 
monsters  are  to  do  ill  deeds.  They  come  to  us  in  our 
hot  blood,  and  first  tempt  us  with  their  venal  daggers  ; 
then  enact  the  mortal  deeds  we  ne'er  had  thought  on  but 
for  them." 

Ere  many  hours  had  passed,  her  pity  for  Gerard  and 
hatred  of  his  murderer  had  risen  to  fever  heat ;  which 
with  this  fool  was  blood  heat. 

''•'Poor  soul!  I  cannot  call  thee  back  to  life;  but  he 
shall  never  live  that  traitorously  slew  thee." 

And  she  put  armed  men  in  ambush,  and  kept  them  on 
guard  all  day,  ready,  when  Lodovico  should  come  for  his 
money,  to  fall  on  him  in  a  certain  ante-chamber  and  hack 
him  to  pieces. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  221 


"  Strike  at  his  head,"  said  she,  "  for  he  weareth  a  privy 
coat  of  mail ;  and  if  he  goes  hence  alive  your  own  heads 
shall  answer  it." 

And  so  she  sat  weeping  her  victim,  and  pulling  the 
strings  of  machines  to  shed  the  blood  of  a  second  for 
having  been  her  machine  to  kill  the  first. 


222  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

One  of  the  novice  Gerard's  self-imposed  penances  was 
to  receive  Lodovico  kindly,  feeling  secretly  as  to  a  slimy 
serpent. 

Never  was  self-denial  better  bestowed  :  and,  like  most 
rational  penances,  it  soon  became  no  penance  at  all.  At 
first  the  pride  and  complacency  with  which  the  assassin 
gazed  on  the  one  life  he  had  saved  was  perhaps  as  ludi- 
crous as  pathetic,  but  it  is  a  great  thing  to  open  a  good 
door  in  a  heart.  One  good  thing  follows  another  through 
the  aperture.  Finding  it  so  sweet  to  save  life,  the  mis- 
creant went  on  to  be  averse  to  taking  it ;  and  from  that 
to  remorse;  and  from  remorse  to  something  very  like 
penitence.  And  here  Teresa  co-operated  by  threatening, 
not  for  the  first  time,  to  leave  him  unless  he  would  con- 
sent to  lead  an  honest  life.  The  good  fathers  of  the 
convent  lent  their  aid,  and  Lodovico  and  Teresa  were 
sent  by  sea  to  Leghorn,  where  Teresa  had  friends,  and 
the  assassin  settled  down  and  became  a  porter. 

He  found  it  miserably  dull  work  at  first,  and  said  so. 

But  methinks  this  dull  life  of  plodding  labor  was  better 
for  him  than  the  brief  excitement  of  being  hewn  in  pieces 
by  the  Princess  Clselia's  myrmidons.  His  exile  saved  the 
unconscious  penitent  from  that  fate ;  and  the  princess, 
balked  of  her  revenge,  took  to  brooding,  and  fell  into  a 
profound  melancholy  ;  dismissed  her  confessor,  and  took 
a  new  one  with  a  great  reputation  for  piety,  to  whom  she 
confided  what  she  called  her  griefs.  The  new  confessor 
was  no  other  than  Fra  Jerome.  She  could  not  have 
fallen  into  better  hands. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  223 


He  heard  her  grimly  out.  Then  took  her  and  shook 
the  delusions  out  of  her  as  roughly  as  if  she  had  been  a 
kitchen-maid.  For,  to  do  this  hard  monk  justice,  on  the 
path  of  duty  he  feared  the  anger  of  princes  as  little  as  he 
did  the  sea.  He  showed  her  in  a  few  words,  all  thunder 
and  lightning,  that  she  was  the  criminal  of  criminals. 

"  Thou  art  the  devil,  that  with  thy  money  hath  tempted 
one  man  to  slay  his  fellow,  and  then,  blinded  with  self- 
love,  instead  of  blaming  and  punishing  thyself,  art  thirst- 
ing for  more  blood  of  guilty  men,  but  not  so  guilty  as 
thou." 

At  first  she  resisted,  and  told  him  she  was  not  used  to 
be  taken  to  task  by  her  confessors.  But  he  overpowered 
her,  and  so  threatened  her  with  the  Church's  curse  here 
and  hereafter,  and  so  tore  the  scales  off  her  eyes,  and 
thundered  at  her,  and  crushed  her,  that  she  sank  down 
and  grovelled  with  remorse  and  terror  at  the  feet  of  the 
gigantic  Boanerges. 

"  Oh,  holy  father,  have  pity  on  a  poor,  weak  woman, 
and  help  me  save  my  guilty  soul.  I  was  benighted  for 
want  of  ghostly  counsel  like  thine,  good  father.  I 
waken  as  from  a  dream." 

"  Doff  thy  jewels,"  said  Fra  Jerome,  sternly. 

"I  will,  I  will." 

"  Doff  thy  silk  and  velvet ;  and,  in  humbler  garb  than 
wears  thy  meanest  servant,  wend  thou  instant  to  Loretto." 
"I  will,"  said  the  princess,  faintly. 
"  No  shoes,  but  a  bare  sandal." 
"No,  father." 

"  Wash  the  feet  of  pilgrims  both  going  and  coming 
and  to  such  of  them  as  be  holy  friars  tell  thy  sin,  and 
abide  their  admonition." 

"  Oh,  holy  father,  let  me  wear  my  mask." 

"Humph!" 

"  Oh,  mercy  !  Bethink  thee  !  My  features  are  known 
through  Italy." 


224  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"Ay;  beauty  is  a  curse  to  most  of  ye.  'Well,  thou 
mayst  mask  thine  eyes  ;  no  more." 

On  this  concession  she  seized  his  hand,  and  was  about 
to  kiss  it ;  but  he  snatched  it  rudely  from  her. 

"  What  would  ye  do  ?  That  hand  handled  the  eucha- 
rist  but  an  hour  agone  :  is  it  fit  for  such  as  thou  to  touch 
it  ?  " 

"  Ah,  no.  But,  oh,  go  not  without  giving  your  penitent 
daughter  your  blessing." 

"Time  enow  to  ask  it  when  you  come  back  from 
Loretto." 

Thus  that  marvellous  occurrence  by  Tiber's  banks  left 
its  mark  on  all  the  actors,  as  prodigies  are  said  to  do. 
The  assassin,  softened  by  saving  the  life  he  was  paid  to 
take,  turned  from  the  stiletto  to  the  porter's  knot.  The 
princess  went  barefoot  to  Loretto,  weeping  her  crime  and 
washing  the  feet  of  base-born  men. 

And  Gerard,  carried  from  the  Tiber  into  that  convent 
a  suicide,  now  passed  for  a  young  saint  within  its  walls. 

Loving  but  experienced  eyes  were  on  him. 

Upon  a  shorter  probation  than  usual  he  was  admitted 
to  priests'  orders. 

And  soon  after  took  the  monastic  vows,  and  became  a 
friar  of  St.  Dominic. 

Dying  to  the  world,  the  monk  parted  with  the  very 
name  by  which  he  had  lived  in  it,  and  so  broke  the  last 
link  of  association  with  earthly  feeling. 

Here  Gerard  ended^  and  Brother  Clement  began. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  225 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

"  As  is  the  race  of  leaves,  so  is  that  of  man."  And  a 
great  man  budded  unnoticed  in  a  tailor's  house  at  Rotter- 
dam this  year,  and  a  large  man  dropped  to  earth  with 
great  eclat. 

Philip,  Duke  of  Burgundy,  Earl  of  Holland,  etc.,  etc., 
lay  sick  at  Bruges.  Now  paupers  got  sick  and  got  well 
as  nature  pleased :  but  woe  betided  the  rich  in  an  age 
when,  for  one  Mr.  Malady  killed,  three  fell  by  Dr.  Remedy. 

The  duke's  complaint,  nameless  then,  is  now  diphtheria. 
It  is,  and  was,  a  very  weakening  malady,  and  the  duke 
was  old  ;  so  altogether  Dr.  Remedy  bled  him. 

The  duke  turned  very  cold  :  wonderful ! 

Then  Dr.  Remedy  had  recourse  to  the  arcana  of  science. 

"  Ho  !  this  is  grave.  Flay  me  an  ape  incontinent,  and 
clap  him  to  the  duke's  breast ! " 

Officers  of  state  ran  septemvious,  seeking  an  ape  to 
counteract  the  bloodthirsty  tomfoolery  of  the  human 
species. 

Perdition  !  The  duke  was  out  of  apes.  There  were 
buffaloes,  lizards,  Turks,  leopards ;  any  unreasonable 
beast  but  the  right  one. 

"  Why,  there  used  to  be  an  ape  about/'  said  one.  "  If 
I  stand  here,  I  saw  him." 

So  there  used;  but  the  mastiff  had  mangled  the 
sprightly  creature  for  stealing  his  supper,  and  so  ful- 
filled the  human  precept :  "  Soyez  de  votre  Steele  /  " 

In  this  emergency,  the  seneschal  cast  his  despairing 
eyes  around ;  and  not  in  vain.  A  hopeful  light  shot  into 
them. 


226  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

" Here  is  this"  said  he,  sotto  voce.  "  Surely  this  will 
serve  ;  'tis  altogether  apelike,  doublet  aud  hose  apart.*' 

"Nay,"  said  the  chancellor,  peevishly,  athe  Princess 
Marie  would  hang  us.    She  doteth  on  this." 

Now  this  was  our  friend  Giles,  strutting,  all  uncon- 
scious, in  cloth  of  gold. 

Then  Dr.  Kemedy  grew  impatient,  and  bade  flay  a 
dog. 

"  A  dog  is  next  best  to  an  ape  ;  only  it  must  be  a  dog 
all  of  one  color." 

So  they  flayed  a  liver-colored  dog,  and  clapped  it,  yet 
palpitating,  to  their  sovereign's  breast :  and  he  died. 

Philip  the  Good,  thus  scientifically  disposed  of,  left 
thirty-one  children :  of  whom  one,  somehow  or  another, 
was  legitimate ;  and  reigned  in  his  stead. 

The  good  duke  provided  for  nineteen  out  of  the  other 
thirty  ;  the  rest  shifted  for  themselves. 

According  to  the  Flemish  chronicle  the  deceased  prince 
was  descended  from  the  kings  of  Troy  through  Thierry 
of  Aquitaine,  and  Chilperic,  Pharamond,  etc.,  the  old 
kings  of  Franconia. 

But  this  in  reality  was  no  distinction.  Not  a  prince  of 
his  day  have  I  been  able  to  discover  who  did  not  come 
down  from  Troy.    "Priam"  was  mediaeval  for  "Adam." 

The  good  duke's  body  was  carried  into  Burgundy,  and 
laid  in  a  noble  mausoleum  of  black  marble  at  Dijon. 

Holland  rang  with  his  death ;  and  little  dreamed  that 
anything  as  famous  was  born  in  her  territory  that 
year.  That  judgment  has  been  long  reversed.  Men 
gaze  at  the  tailor's  house,  where  the  great  birth  of 
the  fifteenth  century  took  place.  In  what  house  the 
good  duke  died  "no  one  knows  and  no  one  cares/'  as 
the  song  says. 

And  why  ? 

Dukes  Philip  the  Good  come  and  go,  and  leave  man- 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  227 

kind  not  a  halfpenny  wiser,  nor  better,  nor  other,  than 
they  found  it.  But  when,  once  in  three  hundred  years, 
such  a  child  is  born  to  the  world  as  Margaret's  son,  lo  !  a 
human  torch  lighted  by  fire  from  heaven;  and  "Fiat 
lux"  thunders  from  pole  to  pole. 


228  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE  CLOISTEK. 

The  Dominicans,  or  preaching  friars,  once  the  most 
powerful  order  in  Europe,  were  now  on  the  wane  ;  tneir 
rivals  and  bitter  enemies,  the  Franciscans,  were  over- 
powering them  throughout  Europe ;  even  in  England,  a 
rich  and  religious  country,  where,  under  the  name  of  the 
Black  Friars,  they  had  once  been  paramount. 

Therefore  the  sagacious  men,  who  watched  and  directed 
the  interests  of  the  order,  were  never  so  anxious  to  in- 
corporate able  and  zealous  sons,  and  send  them  forth  to 
win  back  the  world. 

The  zeal  and  accomplishments  of  Clement,  especially 
his  rare  mastery  of  language  (for  he  spoke  Latin,  Italian, 
French,  high  and  low  Dutch)  soon  transpired,  and  he 
was  destined  to  travel  and  preach  in  England,  corre- 
sponding with  the  Roman  centre. 

But  Jerome,  who  had  the  superior's  ear,  obstructed 
this  design. 

"  Clement,"  said  he,  "  has  the  milk  of  the  world  still 
in  his  veins,  its  feelings,  its  weaknesses;  let  not  his 
new-born  zeal  and  his  humility  tempt  us  to  forego  our 
ancient  wisdom.  Try  him  first,  and  temper  him,  lest 
one  day  we  find  ourselves  leaning  on  a  reed  for  a  staff." 

"  It  is  well  advised,"  said  the  prior.  "  Take  him  in 
hand  thyself." 

Then  Jerome,  following  the  ancient  wisdom,  took 
Clement  and  tried  him. 

One  day  he  brought  him  to  a  field  where  the  young 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEABTH.  229 


men  amused  themselves  at  the  games  of  the  day;  he 
knew  this  to  be  a  haunt  of  Clement's  late  friends. 

And  sure  enough  ere  long  Pietro  Vanucci  and  Andrea 
passed  by  them,  and  cast  a  careless  glance  on  the  two 
friars.  They  did  not  recognize  their  dead  friend  in  a 
shaven  monk. 

Clement  gave  a  very  little  start,  and  then  lowered  his 
eyes  and  said  a  paternoster. 

"  Would  ye  not  speak  with  them,  brother  ? n  said 
Jerome,  trying  him. 

"  No,  brother :  yet  was  it  good  for  me  to  see  them. 
They  remind  me  of  the  sins  I  can  never  repent  enough." 

"  It  is  well,"  said  Jerome,  and  he  made  a  cold  report 
in  Clement's  favor. 

Then  Jerome  took  Clement  to  many  death-beds.  And 
then  into  noisome  dungeons ;  places  where  the  darkness 
was  appalling,  and  the  stench  loathsome,  pestilential; 
and  men  looking  like  wild  beasts  lay  coiled  in  rags  and 
filth  and  despair.  It  tried  his  body  hard ;  but  the  soul 
collected  all  its  powers  to  comfort  such  poor  wretches 
there  as  were  not  past  comfort.  And  Clement  shone  in 
that  trial.  Jerome  reported  that  Clement's  spirit  was 
willing,  but  his  flesh  was  weak. 

"  Good  ! "  said  Anselm ;  "  his  flesh  is  weak,  but  his 
spirit  is  willing." 

But  there  was  a  greater  trial  in  store. 

I  will  describe  it  as  it  was  seen  by  others. 

One  morning  a  principal  street  in  Rome  was  crowded, 
and  even  the  avenues  blocked  up  with  heads.  It  was  an 
execution.  No  common  crime  had  been  done,  and  on  no 
vulgar  victim. 

The  governor  of  Eome  had  been  found  in  his  bed  at 
daybreak,  slaughtered.  His  hand,  raised  probably  in 
self-defence,  lay  by  his  side  severed  at  the  wrist ;  his 
throat  was  cut,  and  his  temples  bruised  with  some  blunt 


23  ■ 


THE  CLOESTEB   AMI  THE 


instrument.    The  murder  had  been  traced  to  his  servant, 

and  was  to  be  expiated  in  kind  this  very  morning. 

murder  was  thought  to  call  for  exact  and  bloody  retribu- 
tion. 

The  criminal  was  brought  to  the  house  of  the  murdered 
man.  and  fastened  for  half  an  hour  to  its  w-\*h  After 
this  foretaste  of  legal  vengeance  his  left  haul  —as 
struck  off.  like  his  victim's.  A  new-killed  fowl  was  eat 
open  and  fastened  round  the  bleeding  5 rant  :  — ::h  — hat 
view  I  really  don't  know ;  but,  by  the  look  of  it,  some 
mare's  nest  of  the  poor  dear  doctors ;  and  the  murderer, 
thus  mutilated  and  canclageoa  ~ as  uoroiea  a  :  the  staff  eli. 
and  there  a  young  friar  was  most  earnest  and  affectionate 
in  praying  with  him,  and  for  him,  and  holding  the 
crucifix  close  to  Ms  eyes. 

Presently  the  executioner  pulled  the  friar  roughly  on 
one  side,  and  in  a  moment  felled  the  culprit  with  a 
heavy  mallet,  and,  falling  on  him,  cot  his  throat  from 
ear  to  ear. 

There  was  a  cry  of  horror  from  the  crowd. 
The  voung  friar  swooned 
A  Laurie  monk  strode 
like  a  child. 

couraged.    He  confessed 
regret. 

"  Courage,  son  Clement," 
can  is  not  made  in  a  day 
trial.  And  I  forbid  thee  to 
bowed  his  head  in  token  of 
to  wait.  A  robber  was 
monster  of  villany  and  era 
pure  wantonness,  after  ro": 
his  last  night  in  prison  w 


oat  :f 


-ang."  Cement 
^e  nan  n:t  -in  a* 
the  soafaili:  a 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


231 


the  scaffold,  and  then  prayed  with  him  and  for  him  so 
earnestly  that  the  hardened  ruffian  shed  tears  and  em- 
braced him.  Clement  embraced  him  too,  though  his  flesh 
quivered  with  repugnance ;  and  held  the  crucifix  earnestly 
before  his  eyes.  The  man  was  garrotted,  and  Clement 
lost  sight  of  the  crowd,  and  prayed  loud  and  earnestly 
while  that  dark  spirit  was  passing  from  earth.  He  was 
no  sooner  dead  than  the  hangman  raised  his  hatchet  and 
quartered  the  body  on  the  spot.  And,  oh,  mysterious 
heart  of  man !  the  people  who  had  seen  the  living  body 
robbed  of  life  with  indifference,  almost  with  satisfaction, 
uttered  a  piteous  cry  at  each  stroke  of  the  axe  upon  his 
corpse  that  could  feel  nought.  Clement  too  shuddered 
then,  but  stood  firm,  like  one  of  those  rocks  that  vibrate 
but  cannot  be  thrown  down.  But  suddenly  Jerome's 
voice  sounded  in  his  ear. 

"  Brother  Clement,  get  thee  on  that  cart  and  preach  to 
the  people.  Nay,  quickly  !  strike  with  all  thy  force  on 
all  this  iron,  while  yet  'tis  hot,  and  souls  are  to  be 
saved." 

Clement's  color  came  and  went ;  and  he  breathed  hard. 
But  he  obeyed,  and  with  ill-assured  step  mounted 
the  cart,  and  preached  his  first  sermon  to  the  first 
crowd  he  had  ever  faced.  Oh,  that  sea  of  heads  !  His 
throat  seemed  parched,  his  heart  thumped,  his  voice 
trembled. 

By-and-by  the  greatness  of  the  occasion,  the  sight  of 
the  eager  upturned  faces,  and  his  own  heart  full  of  zeal, 
fired  the  pale  monk.  He  told  them  this  robber's  history, 
warm  from  his  own  lips  in  the  prison,  and  showed  his 
hearers  by  that  example  the  gradations  of  folly  and 
crime,  and  warned  them  solemnly  not  to  put  foot  on  the 
first  round  of  that  fatal  ladder.  And  as  alternately  he 
thundered  against  the  shedders  of  blood,  and  moved  the 
crowd  to  charity  and  pity,  his  tremors  left  him,  and  he 


232  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


felt  all  strung  up  like  a  lute,  and  gifted  with  an  unsus- 
pected force;  he  was  master  of  that  listening  crowd, 
could  feel  their  very  pulse,  could  play  sacred  melodies 
on  them  as  on  his  psaltery.  Sobs  and  groans  attested 
his  power  over  the  mob  already  excited  by  the  tragedy 
before  them.  Jerome  stared  like  one  who  goes  to  light 
a  stick,  and  fires  a  rocket.  After  a  while  Clement 
caught  his  look  of  astonishment,  and,  seeing  no  approba- 
tion in  it,  broke  suddenly  off,  and  joined  him. 

"It  was  my  first  endeavor,"  said  he,  apologetically. 
"Your  behest  came  on  me  like  a  thunderbolt.  Was  I 
—  did  I  ?  —  Oh,  correct  me  and  aid  me  with  your  expe- 
rience, brother  Jerome." 

"  Humph ! "  said  Jerome,  doubtfully.  He  added  rather 
sullenly  after  long  reflection,  "Give  the  glory  to  God, 
brother  Clement ;  my  opinion  is,  thou  art  an  orator 
born." 

He  reported  the  same  at  headquarters,  half  reluctantly. 
For  he  was  an  honest  friar  though  a  disagreeable  one. 

One  Julio  Antonelli  was  accused  of  sacrilege;  three 
witnesses  swore  they  saw  him  come  out  of  the  church 
whence  the  candlesticks  were  stolen,  and  at  the  very 
time.  Other  witnesses  proved  an  alibi  for  him  as  posi- 
tively. Neither  testimony  could  be  shaken.  In  this 
doubt  Antonelli  was  permitted  the  trial  by  water,  hot  or 
cold.  By  the  hot  trial  he  must  put  his  bare  arm  into 
boiling  water,  fourteen  inches  deep,  and  take  out  a 
pebble  ;  by  the  cold  trial  his  body  must  be  let  down  into 
eight  feet  of  water.  The  clergy,  who  thought  him  inno- 
cent, recommended  the  hot  water  trial,  which,  to  those 
whom  they  favored,  was  not  so  terrible  as  it  sounded. 
But  the  poor  wretch  had  not  the  nerve,  and  chose  the 
cold  ordeal.  And  this  gave  Jerome  another  opportunity 
of  steeling  Clement.  Antonelli  took  the  sacrament,  and 
then  was  stripped  naked  on  the  banks  of  the  Tiber,  and 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  233 


tied  hand  and  foot,  to  prevent  those  struggles  by  which  a 
man,  throwing  his  arms  out  of  the  water,  sinks  his  body. 

He  was  then  let  down  gently  into  the  stream,  and 
floated  a  moment,  with  just  his  hair  above  water.  A 
simultaneous  roar  from  the  crowd  on  each  bank  pro- 
claimed him  guilty.  But  the  next  moment  the  ropes, 
which  happened  to  be  new,  got  wet,  and  he  settled  down. 
Another  roar  proclaimed  his  innocence.  They  left  him 
at  the  bottom  of  the  river  the  appointed  time,  rather 
more  than  half  a  minute,  then  drew  him  up,  gurgling, 
and  gasping,  and  screaming  for  mercy  ;  and,  after  the 
appointed  prayers,  dismissed  him,  cleared  of  the  charge. 
-  During  the  experiment  Clement  prayed  earnestly  on 
the  bank.  When  it  was  over  he  thanked  God  in  a  loud 
but  slightly  quavering  voice. 

By-and-by  he  asked  Jerome  whether  the  man  ought 
not  to  be  compensated. 

"  For  what  ?  " 

"  For  the  pain,  the  dread,  the  suffocation.  Poor  soul, 
he  liveth,  but  hath  tasted  all  the  bitterness  of  death. 
Yet  he  had  done  no  ill." 

"  He  is  rewarded  enough  in  that  he  is  cleared  of  his 
fault." 

"But,  being  innocent  of  that  fault,  yet  hath  he  drunk 
Death's  cup,  though  not  to  the  dregs  ;  and  his  accusers, 
less  innocent  than  he,  do  suffer  nought." 

Jerome  replied,  somewhat  sternly  : 

"It  is  not  in  this  world  men  are  really  punished, 
brother  Clement.  Unhappy  they  who  sin,  yet  suffer 
not.  And  happy  they  who  suffer  such  ills  as  earth  hath 
power  to  inflict ;  'tis  counted  to  them  above,  ay,  and  a 
hundredfold." 

Clement  bowed  his  head  submissively. 

"  May  thy  good  words  not  fall  to  the  ground,  but  take 
root  in  my  heart,  brother  Jerome." 


234  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


But  the  severest  trial  Clement  underwent  at  Jerome's 
hands  was  unpremeditated.  It  came  about  thus.  Jerome, 
in  an  indulgent  moment,  went  with  him  to  Fra  Colonna, 
and  there  "The  Dream  of  Polifilo"  lay  on  the  table  just 
copied  fairly.  The  poor  author,  in  the  pride  of  his  heart, 
pointed  out  a  master-stroke  in  it. 

"  For  ages,"  said  he,  "  fools  have  been  lavishing  poetic 
praise  and  amorous  compliment  on  mortal  women,  mere 
creatures  of  earth,  smacking  palpably  of  their  origin; 
sirens  at  the  windows,  where  our  Soman  women  in  par- 
ticular have  by  lifelong  study  learned  the  wily  art  to 
show  their  one  good  feature,  though  but  an  ear  or  an 
eyelash,  at  a  jalosy,  and  hide  all  the  rest ;  magpies  at 
the  door,  Capre  n9  i  giardini,  Angeli  in  Strada,  Sante  in 
cliiesa,  Diavoli  in  casa.  Then  come  I  and  ransack  the 
minstrels'  lines  for  amorous  turns,  not  forgetting  those 
which  Petrarch  wasted  on  that  French  jilt  Laura,  the 
slyest  of  them  all ;  and  I  lay  you  the  whole  bundle  of 
spice  at  the  feet  of  the  only  females  worthy  amorous 
incense ;  to  wit,  the  Nine  Muses." 

"  By  which  goodly  stratagem,"  said  Jerome,  who  had 
been  turning  the  pages  all  this  time,  "you,  a  friar  of  St. 
Dominic,  have  produced  an  obscene  book."  And  he 
dashed  Polifilo  on  the  table. 

"  Obscene  ?  thou  discourteous  monk ! "  And  the  author 
ran  round  the  table,  snatched  Polifilo  away,  locked  him 
up,  and,  trembling  with  mortification,  said,  "  My  Gerard 
—  pshaw  !  brother  What's-his-name  —  had  not  found 
Polifilo  obscene.     Puris  omnia  pura," 

"  Such  as  read  your  Polifilo  —  Heaven  grant  they  may 
be  few  !  — will  find  him  what  I  find  him." 

Poor  Colonna  gulped  down  this  bitter  pill  as  he  might ; 
and  had  he  not  been  in  his  own  lodgings,  and  a  high- 
born gentleman  as  well  as  a  scholar,  there  might  have 
been  a  vulgar  quarrel.    As  it  was,  he  made  a  great  effort 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


235 


and  turned  the  conversation  to  a  beautiful  chrysolite  the 
Cardinal  Colonna  had  lent  him ;  and,  while  Clement 
handled  it,  enlarged  on  its  moral  virtues :  for  he  went 
the  whole  length  of  his  age  as  a  worshipper  of  jewels. 
But  Jerome  did  not,  and  expostulated  with  him  for 
believing  that  one  dead  stone  could  confer  valor  on  its 
wearer,  another  chastity,  another  safety  from  poison, 
another  temperance. 

"  The  experience  of  ages  proves  they  do,"  said  Colonna. 
"  As  to  the  last  virtue  you  have  named,  there  sits  a  living 
proof.  This  Gerard  —  I  beg  pardon,  brother  Thingemy 
—  comes  from  the  north,  where  men  drink  like  fishes ; 
yet  was  he  ever  most  abstemious.  And  why  ?  Carried 
an  amethyst,  the  clearest  and  fullest  colored  e'er  I  saw 
on  any  but  noble  finger.  Where,  in  Heaven's  name,  is 
thine  amethyst  ?    Show  it  this  unbeliever !  " 

"And  'twas  that  amethyst  made  the  boy  temperate  ?  " 
asked  Jerome,  ironically. 

"  Certainly.  Why,  what  is  the  derivation  and  meaning 
of  amethyst  ?  a  negative,  and  [isdva  to  tipple.  Go  to, 
names  are  but  the  signs  of  things.  A  stone  is  not  called 
a/jedvaxog  for  two  thousand  years  out  of  mere  sport,  and 
abuse  of  language." 

He  then  went  through  the  prime  jewels,  illustrating 
their  moral  properties,  especially  of  the  ruby,  the  sap- 
phire, the  emerald,  and  the  opal,  by  anecdotes  out  of 
grave  historians. 

"  These  be  old  wives'  fables,"  said  Jerome,  contempt- 
uously.   "Was  ever  such  credulity  as  thine  ?  " 

Now  credulity  is  a  reproach  sceptics  have  often  the 
ill-luck  to  incur ;  but  it  mortifies  them  none  the  less  for 
that. 

The  believer  in  stones  writhed  under  it,  and  dropped 
the  subject.  Then  Jerome,  mistaking  his  silence,  ex- 
horted him  to  go  a  step  farther,  and  give  up  from  this 


236  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEAETH. 

day  his  vain  pagan  lore,  and  study  the  lives  of  the  saints. 
"Blot  ont  these  heathen  superstitions  from  thy  rnind, 
brother,  as  Christianity  hath  blotted  thern  from  the 
earth." 

And  in  this  strain  he  proceeded,  repeating,  incautiously, 
some  current  but  loose  theological  statements.  Then  the 
smarting  Polifilo  revenged  himself.  He  flew  out,  and 
hurled  a  mountain  of  crude,  miscellaneous  lore  upon 
Jerome,  of  which,  partly  for  want  of  time,  partly  for 
lack  of  learning,  I  can  reproduce  but  a  few  frag- 
ments. 

"  The  heathen  blotted  out  ?  Why,  they  hold  four- 
fifths  of  the  world.  And  what  have  we  Christians  in- 
vented without  their  aid  ?  Painting  ?  sculpture  ?  these 
are  heathen  arts,  and  we  but  pygmies  at  them.  What 
modern  mind  can  conceive  and  grave  so  godlike  forms 
as  did  the  chief  Athenian  sculptors,  and  the  Libyan 
Licas,  and  Dinocrates  of  Macedon,  and  Scopas,  Tinio- 
theus,  Leochares,  and  Briaxis ;  Chares,  Lysippus,  and 
the  immortal  three  of  Ehodes,  that  wrought  Laocoon 
from  a  single  block  ?  What  prince  hath  the  genius  to 
turn  mountains  into  statues,  as  was  done  at  Bagistan, 
and  projected  at  Athos  ?  what  town  the  soul  to  plant  a 
colossus  of  brass  in  the  sea,  for  the  tallest  ships  to  sail 
in  and  out  between  his  legs  ?  Is  it  architecture  we  have 
invented  ?  Why,  here  too  we  are  but  children.  Can 
we  match  for  pure  design  the  Parthenon,  with  its  clus- 
ters of  double  and  single  Doric  columns  ?  (I  do  adore 
the  Doric  when  the  scale  is  large),  and,  for  grandeur  and 
finish,  the  theatres  of  Greece  and  Koine,  or  the  prodigious 
temples  of  Egypt,  up  to  whose  portals  men  walked  awe- 
struck through  avenues  a  mile  long  of  sphinxes,  each  as 
big  as  a  Venetian  palace.  And  all  these  prodigies  of 
porphyry  cut  and  polished  like  crystal,  not  rough  hewn 
as  in  our  puny  structures.    Even  now  their  polished  col- 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


237 


umns  and  pilasters  lie  overthrown  and  broken,  o'ergrown 
with  acanthus  and  myrtle,  but  sparkling  still,  and  flout- 
ing the  slovenly  art  of  modem  workmen.  Is  it  sewers, 
aqueducts,  viaducts  ? 

"  Why,  we  have  lost  the  art  of  making  a  road  —  lost  it 
with  the  world's  greatest  models  under  our  very  eye.  Is 
it  sepulchres  of  the  dead?  Why,  no  Christian  nation 
has  erected  a  tomb,  the  sight  of  which  does  not  set  a 
scholar  laughing.  Do  but  think  of  the  Mausoleum,  and 
the  Pyramids,  and  the  monstrous  sepulchres  of  the 
Indus  and  Ganges,  which  outside  are  mountains,  and 
within  are  mines  of  precious  stones.  Ah,  you  have  not 
seen  the  East,  Jerome,  or  you  could  not  decry  the 
heathen." 

Jerome  observed  that  these  were  mere  material  things. 
True  greatness  was  in  the  soul. 

"  Well,  then,"  replied  Colonna,  "  in  the  world  of  mind, 
what  have  we  discovered  ?  Is  it  geometry  ?  Is  it  logic  ? 
Nay,  we  are  all  pupils  of  Euclid  and  Aristotle.  Is  it 
written  characters,  an  invention  almost  divine  ?  We  no 
more  invented  it  than  Cadmus  did.  Is  it  poetry  ? 
Homer  hath  never  been  approached  by  us,  nor  hath 
Virgil,  nor  Horace.  Is  it  tragedy  or  comedy  ?  Why, 
poets,  actors,  theatres,  all  fell  to  dust  at  our  touch. 
Have  we  succeeded  in  reviving  them  ?  Would  you  com- 
pare our  little  miserable  mysteries  and  moralities,  all 
frigid  personification  and  dog  Latin,  with  the  glories  of 
a  Greek  play  (on  the  decoration  of  which  a  hundred 
thousand  crowns  had  been  spent)  performed  inside  a 
marble  miracle,  the  audience  a  seated  city,  and  the  poet 
a  Sophocles  ? 

"  What,  then,  have  we  invented  ?  Is  it  monotheism  ? 
Why,  the  learned  and  philosophical  among  the  Greeks 
and  Romans  held  it :  even  their  more  enlightened  poets 
were  monotheists  in  their  sleeves. 


238  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


*  Zsvg  sgtiv  ovgavog,  Zsvg  is  yrj  Zsvg  toi  naviaf 
saith  the  Greek,  and  Lucan  echoes  him : 

*  Jupiter  est  quod  cunque  vides  quo  cunque  moveris.1 

"  Their  vulgar  were  polytheists ;  and  what  are  ours  ? 
We  have  not  invented  '  invocation  of  the  saints.'  Our 
sancti  answers  to  their  Dsemones  and  Divi,  and  the 
heathen  used  to  pray  their  Divi  or  deified  mortals  to 
intercede  with  the  higher  divinity ;  but  the  ruder  minds 
among  them,  incapable  of  nice  distinctions,  worshipped 
those  lesser  gods  they  should  have  but  invoked.  And 
so  do  the  mob  of  Christians  in  our  day,  following  the 
heathen  vulgar  by  unbroken  tradition.  For  in  holy  writ 
is  no  polytheism  of  any  sort  or  kind. 

"We  have  not  invented  so  much  as  a  form,  or  variety, 
of  polytheism.  The  pagan  vulgar  worshipped  all  sorts 
of  deified  mortals,  and  each  had  his  favorite,  to  whom  he 
prayed  ten  times  for  once  to  the  Omnipotent.  Our  vul- 
gar worship  canonized  mortals,  and  each  has  his  favor- 
ite, to  whom  he  prays  ten  times  for  once  to  God.  Call 
you  that  invention  ?  Invention  is  confined  to  the  East. 
Among  the  ancient  vulgar  only  the  mariners  were  mono- 
theists  ;  they  worshipped  Venus  ;  called  her  Stella  maris, 
and  Regina  coelorum.  Among  our  vulgar  only  the  mari- 
ners are  monotheists ;  they  worship  the  Virgin  Mary, 
and  call  her  the  i  Star  of  the  Sea/  and  the  '  Queen  of 
Heaven.'  Call  you  theirs  a  new  religion?  An  old 
doublet  with  a  new  button.  Our  vulgar  make  images 
and  adore  them,  which  is  absurd;  for  adoration  is  the 
homage  due  from  a  creature  to  its  creator;  now  here 
man  is  the  creator ;  so  the  statues  ought  to  worship  him, 
and  would  if  they  had  brains  enough  to  justify  a  rat  in 
worshipping  them.  But  even  this  abuse,  though  childish 
enough  to  be  modern,  is  ancient.    The  pagan  vulgar  in 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  239 


these  parts  made  their  images,  then  knelt  before  them, 
adorned  them  with  flowers,  offered  incense  to  them, 
lighted  tapers  before  them,  carried  them  in  procession, 
and  made  pilgrimages  to  them,  just  to  the  smallest  tittle 
as  we  their  imitators  do." 

Jerome  here  broke  in  impatiently,  and  reminded  him 
that  the  images  the  most  revered  in  Christendom  were 
made  by  no  mortal  hand,  but  had  dropped  from  heaven. 

"  Ay,"  cried  Colonna,  "  such  are  the  tutelary  images  of 
most  great  Italian  towns.  I  have  examined  nineteen  of 
them,  and  made  draughts  of  them.  If  they  came  from 
the  sky,  our  worst  sculptors  are  our  angels.  But  my 
mind  is  easy  on  that  score.  Ungainly  statue,  or  villan- 
ous  daub,  fell  never  yet  from  heaven  to  smuggle  the 
bread  out  of  capable  workmen's  mouths.  All  this  is 
Pagan,  and  arose  thus.  The  Trojans  had  Oriental  imagi- 
nations, and  feigned  that  their  Palladium,  a  wooden 
statue  three  cubits  long,  fell  down  from  heaven.  The 
Greeks  took  this  fib  home  among  the  spoils  of  Troy,  and 
soon  it  rained  statues  on  all  the  Grecian  cities,  and  their 
Latin  apes.  And  one  of  these  Palladia  gave  St.  Paul 
trouble  at  Ephesus ;  'twas  a  statue  of  Diana  that  fell 
down  from  Jupiter :  credat  qui  credere  jpossit." 

"What,  would  you  cast  your  profane  doubts  on  that 
picture  of  our  blessed  Lady,  which  scarce  a  century 
agone  hung  lustrous  in  the  air  over  this  very  city,  and 
was  taken  down  by  the  Pope  and  bestowed  in  St.  Peter's 
Church  ?  " 

"I  have  no  profane  doubts  on  the  matter,  Jerome. 
This  is  the  story  of  Numa's  shield,  revived  by  theolo- 
gians with  an  itch  for  fiction,  but  no  talent  that  way; 
not  being  Orientals.  The  ancile  or  sacred  shield  of  Numa 
hung  lustrous  in  the  air  over  this  very  city,  till  that 
pious  prince  took  it  down  and  hung  it  in  the  temple  of 
Jupiter.    Be  just,  swallow  both  stories  or  neither.  The 


240  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

Bocca  delta  Vevita  passes  for  a  statue  of  the  Virgin,  and 
convicted  a  woman  of  perjury  the  other  day ;  it  is  in 
reality  an  image  of  the  goddess  Rhea,  and  the  modern 
figment  is  one  of  its  ancient  traditions ;  swallow  both  or 
neither. 

'  Qui  Bavium  non  odit  amet  tua  carmina,  Mavi.' 

"  But  indeed  we  owe  all  our  Palladiuncula,  and  all  our 
speaking,  nodding,  winking,  sweating,  bleeding  statues, 
to  these  poor  abused  heathens :  the  Athenian  statues  all 
sweated  before  the  battle  of  Chaeronea,  so  did  the  Eoman 
statues  during  Tally's  consulship,  viz.,  the  statue  of 
Victory  at  Capua,  of  Mars  at  Home,  and  of  Apollo  out- 
side the  gates.  The  Palladium  itself  was  brought  to 
Italy  by  iEneas,  and  after  keeping  quiet  three  centuries, 
made  an  observation  in  Vesta's  Temple  :  a  trivial  one,  I 
fear,  since  it  hath  not  survived;  Juno's  statue  at  Veii 
assented  with  a  nod  to  go  to  Rome.  Antony's  statue  on 
Mount  Alban  bled  from  every  vein  in  its  marble  before 
the  fight  of  Actium.  Others  cured  diseases  :  as  that  of 
Pelichus,  derided  by  Lucian;  for  the  wiser  among  the 
heathen  believed  in  sweating  marble,  weeping  wood,  and 
bleeding  brass  —  as  I  do.  Of  all  our  marks  and  dents 
made  in  stone  by  soft  substances,  this  saint's  knee,  and 
that  saint's  finger,  and  t'other's  head,  the  original  is 
heathen.  Thus  the  footprints  of  Hercules  were  shown 
on  a  rock  in  Scythia.  Castor  and  Pollux  fighting  on 
white  horses  for  Rome  against  the  Latians,  left  the 
prints  of  their  hoofs  on  a  rock  at  Regillum.  A  temple 
was  built  to  them  on  the  spot,  and  the  marks  were  to  be 
seen  in  Tully's  day.  You  may  see  near  Venice  a  great 
stone  cut  nearly  in  half  by  St.  George's  sword.  This 
he  ne'er  had  done  but  for  the  old  Roman  who  cut  the 
whetstone  in  two  with  his  razor. 

1  Qui  Bavium  non  odit  amet  tua  carmina,  Mavi.* 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  241 


"  Kissing  of  images,  and  the  Pope's  toe,  is  Eastern 
Paganism.  The  Egyptians  had  it  of  the  Assyrians,  the 
Greeks  of  the  Egyptians,  the  Eomans  of  the  Greeks,  and 
we  of  the  Komans,  whose  Pontifex  Maximns  had  his  toe 
kissed  under  the  Empire.  The  Druids  kissed  their 
high  priest's  toe  a  thousand  years  b.c.  The  Mussul- 
mans, who,  like  you,  profess  to  abhor  heathenism,  kiss 
the  stone  of  the  Caaba :  a  Pagan  practice. 

"  The  priests  of  Baal  kissed  their  idols  so. 

"  Tully  tells  us  of  a  fair  image  of  Hercules  at  Agrigen- 
tum,  whose  chin  was  worn  by  kissing.  The  lower  parts 
of  the  statue  we  call  Peter  are  Jupiter.  The  toe  is  sore 
worn,  but  not  all  by  Christian  mouths.  The  heathen 
vulgar  laid  their  lips  there  first,  for  many  a  year,  and 
ours  have  but  followed  them,  as  monkeys  their  masters. 
And  that  is  why  down  with  the  poor  heathen  !  Pereant 
qui  ante  nos  nostra  fecerint. 

"  Our  infant  baptism  is  Persian,  with  the  font,  and 
the  signing  of  the  child's  brow.  Our  throwing  three 
handfuls  of  earth  on  the  coffin,  and  saying,  Dust  to  dust, 
is  Egyptian. 

"Our  incense  is  Oriental,  Koman,  Pagan;  and  the 
early  fathers  of  the  Church  regarded  it  with  supersti- 
tious horror,  and  died  for  refusing  to  handle  it.  Our 
holy  water  is  Pagan,  and  all  its  uses.  See,  here  is  a 
Pagan  aspersorium.  Could  you  tell  it  from  one  of  ours  ? 
It  stood  in  the  same  part  of  their  temples,  and  was  used 
in  ordinary  worship  as  ours,  and  in  extraordinary  purifi- 
cations. They  called  it  aqua  lustralis.  Their  vulgar, 
like  ours,  thought  drops  of  it  falling  on  the  body  would 
wash  out  sin ;  and  their  men  of  sense,  like  ours,  smiled 
or  sighed  at  such  credulity.  What  saith  Ovid  of  this 
folly,  which  hath  outlived  him  ? 

'  Ah  nimium  faciles,  qui  tristia  crimina  coedis 
Fluminea  tolli  posse  putetis  aqua.' 

16 


242  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


Thou  seest  the  heathen  were  not  all  fools.  No  more  are 
we.    Not  all." 

Fra  Colonna  uttered  all  this  with  such  volubility,  that 
his  hearers  could  not  edge  in  a  word  of  remonstrance ;  and 
not  being  interrupted  in  praising  his  favorites,  he  re- 
covered his  good  humor  without  any  diminution  of  his 
volubility. 

"  We  celebrate  the  miraculous  Conception  of  the  Vir- 
gin on  the  2d  of  February.  The  old  Romans  celebrated 
the  miraculous  Conception  of  Juno  on  the  2d  of  Febru- 
ary. Our  Feast  of  All  Saints  is  on  the  2d  November. 
The  Festum  Dei  Mortis  was  on  the  2d  November.  Our 
Candlemas  is  also  an  old  Roman  feast :  neither  the  date 
nor  the  ceremony  altered  one  tittle.  The  patrician 
ladies  carried  candles  about  the  city  that  night  as  our 
signoras  do  now.  At  the  gate  of  San  Croce  our  courte- 
sans keep  a  feast  on  the  20th  August.  Ask  them  why ! 
The  little  noodles  cannot  tell  you.  On  that  very  spot 
stood  the  Temple  of  Venus.  Her  building  is  gone  ;  but 
her  rite  remains.  Did  we  discover  Purgatory  ?  On  the 
contrary,  all  we  really  know  about  it  is  from  two  treat- 
ises of  Plato,  the  G-orgias  and  the  Phaedo,  and  the  sixth 
book  of  Virgil's  iEneid." 

"  I  take  it  from  a  holier  source :  St.  Gregory,"  said 
Jerome  sternly. 

"Like  enough,"  replied  Colonna  dryly.  "But  St. 
Gregory  was  not  so  nice  ;  he  took  it  from  Virgil.  Some 
souls,  saith  Gregory,  are  purged  by  fire,  others  by  water, 
others  by  air. 

"  Says  Virgil :  — 

'  Aliae  panduntur  inanes, 
Suspensse  ad  ventos,  aliis  sub  gurgite  vasto 
Infectum  eluitur  scelus,  aut  exuritur  igni.1 

But  peradventure,  you  think  Pope  Gregory  I.  lived  be- 
fore Virgil,  and  Virgil  versified  him. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  243 

"  But  the  doctrine  is  Eastern,  and  as  much  older  than 
Plato  as  Plato  than  Gregory.  Our  prayers  for  the  dead 
came  from  Asia  with  ^Eneas.  Ovid  tells,  that  when  he 
prayed  for  the  soul  of  Anchises,  the  custom  was  strange 
in  Italy. 

1  Hunc  morem  iEnseas,  pietatis  idoneus  auctor 
Attulit  in  terras,  juste  Latine,  tuas.' 

The  '  Biblicse  Sortes,'  which  I  have  seen  consulted  on  the 
altar,  are  a  parody  on  the  '  Sortes  Virgilianse.'  Our  numer- 
ous altars  in  one  church  are  heathen  :  the  Jews,  who  are 
monotheists,  have  but  one  altar  in  a  church.  But  the 
Pagans  had  many,  being  polytheists.  In  the  temple  of 
Paphian  Venus  were  a  hundred  of  them.  '  Centum  que 
Sabceo  thure  calent  arce.'  Our  altars  and  our  hundred 
lights  around  St.  Peter's  tomb  are  Pagan.  '  Centum  aras 
posuit  vigilemque  sacraverat  ignemJ  We  invent  nothing, 
not  even  numerically.  Our  very  Devil  is  the  god  Pan : 
horns  and  hoofs  and  all ;  but  blackened.  For  we  cannot 
draw ;  we  can  but  daub  the  figures  of  antiquity  with  a 
little  sorry  paint  or  soot.  Our  Moses  hath  stolen  the 
horns  of  Amnion  ;  our  Wolfgang  the  hook  of  Saturn  ;  and 
Janus  bore  the  keys  of  heaven  before  St.  Peter.  All  our 
really  old  Italian  bronzes  of  the  Virgin  and  Child  are 
Venuses  and  Cupids.  So  is  the  wooden  statue,  that 
stands  hard  by  this  house,  of  Pope  Joan  and  the  child 
she  is  said  to  have  brought  forth  there  in  the  middle  of 
a  procession.  Idiots  !  are  new-born  children  thirteen 
years  old  ?  And  that  boy  is  not  a  day  younger.  Cupid ! 
Cupid !  Cupid !  And  since  you  accuse  me  of  credulity, 
know  that  to  my  mind  that  Papess  is  full  as  mythologi- 
cal, born  of  froth,  and  every  way  unreal,  as  the  goddess 
who  passes  for  her  in  the  next  street,  or  as  the  saints  you 
call  St.  Baccho  and  St.  Quirina :  or  St.  Oracte,  which  is  a 
dunce-like  corruption  of  Mount  Soracte  ;  or  St.  Amphibo- 


244  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

lus,  an  English  saint,  which  is  a  dunce-like  corruption 
of  the  cloak  worn  by  their  St.  Alban  ;  or  as  the  Spanish 
saint,  St.  Viar,  which  words  on  his  tombstone,  written 
thus  :  1 S.  Viar,'  prove  him  no  saint,  but  a  good  old  name- 
less heathen,  and  'prcefectus  Viarum,'  or  overseer  of 
roads  (would  he  were  back  to  earth,  and  paganizing  of 
our  Christian  roads  !)  ;  or  as  our  St.  Veronica  of  Benasco, 
which  Veronica  is  a  dunce-like  corruption  of  the  '  Vera 
icon,3  which  this  saint  brought  into  the  Church.  I  wish 
it  may  not  be  as  unreal  as  the  donor,  or  as  the  eleven 
thousand  virgins  of  Cologne,  who  were  but  a  couple." 

Clement  interrupted  him  to  inquire  what  he  meant. 
"  I  have  spoken  with  those  have  seen  their  bones." 

"  What,  of  eleven  thousand  virgins  all  collected  in  one 
place  and  at  one  time  ?  Do  but  bethink  thee,  Clement, 
Not  one  of  the  great  Eastern  cities  of  antiquity  could 
collect  eleven  thousand  Pagan  virgins  at  one  time,  far 
less  a  puny  Western  city.  Eleven  thousand  Christian 
virgins  in  a  little,  wee  Paynim  city ! 

•  Quod  cunque  ostendis  mihi  sic  incredulus  odi.' 

The  simple  sooth  is  this.  The  martyrs  were  two  :  the 
Breton  princess  herself,  falsely  called  British,  and  her 
maid,  Onesimilla,  which  is  a  Greek  name,  Onesima, 
diminished.  This  some  fool  did  mispronounce  undecim 
mille,  eleven  thousand:  loose  tongue  found  credulous 
ears,  and  so  one  fool  made  many ;  eleven  thousand  of 
them,  an  you  will.  And  you  charge  me  with  credulity, 
Jerome  ?  and  bid  me  read  the  lives  of  the  saints.  Well, 
I  have  read  them,  and  many  a  dear  old  Pagan  acquaint- 
ance I  found  there.  The  best  fictions  in  the  book  are 
Oriental,  and  are  known  to  have  been  current  in  Persia 
and  Arabia  eight  hundred  years  and  more  before  the 
dates  the  Church  assigns  to  them  as  facts.  As  for  the 
true  Western  figments,  they  lack  the  Oriental  plausi- 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  245 

bility.  Think  you  I  am  credulous  enough  to  believe 
that  St.  Ida  joined  a  decapitated  head  to  its  body  ?  that 
Cuthbert's  carcass  directed  his  bearers  where  to  go,  and 
where  to  stop  ;  that  a  city  was  eaten  up  of  rats  to  punish 
one  Hatto  for  comparing  the  poor  to  mice ;  that  angels 
have  a  little  horn  in  their  foreheads,  and  that  this  was 
seen  and  recorded  at  the  time  by  St.  Veronica  of  Benasco, 
who  never  existed,  and  hath  left  us  this  information  and 
a  miraculous  handkercher  ?  For  my  part,  I  think  the 
holiest  woman  the  world  ere  saw  must  have  an  existence 
ere  she  can  have  a  handkercher  or  an  eye  to  take  uni- 
corns for  angels.  Think  you  I  believe  that  a  brace  of 
lions  turned  sextons  and  helped  Anthony  bury  Paul  of 
Thebes  ?  that  Patrick,  a  Scotch  saint,  stuck  a  goat's 
beard  on  all  the  descendants  of  one  that  offended  him  ? 
that  certain  thieves  having  stolen  the  convent  ram,  and 
denying  it,  St.  Pol  de  Leon  bade  the  ram  bear  witness, 
and  straight  the  mutton  bleated  in  the  thief's  belly  ? 
Would  you  have  me  give  up  the  skilful  figments  of 
antiquity  for  such  old  wives'  fables  as  these  ?  The 
ancients  lied  about  animals,  too:  but  then,  they  lied 
logically  ;  we  unreasonably.  Do  but  compare  Ephis  and 
his  lion,  or,  better  still,  Androcles  and  his  lion,  with 
Anthony  and  his  two  lions.  Both  the  Pagan  lions  do 
what  lions  never  did  ;  but  at  the  least  they  act  in  charac- 
ter. A  lion  with  a  bone  in  his  throat,  or  a  thorn  in  his 
foot,  could  not  do  better  than  be  civil  to  a  man.  But 
Anthony's  lions  are  asses  in  a  lion's  skin.  What  leonine 
motive  could  they  have  in  turning  sextons  ?  A  lion's 
business  is  to  make  corpses,  not  inter  them."  He  added, 
with  a  sigh,  "Our  lies  are  as  inferior  to  the  lies  of  the 
ancients  as  our  statues,  and  for  the  same  reason;  we  do 
not  study  nature  as  they  did.  We  are  imitators,  servum 
pecus.  Believe  you  '  the  lives  of  the  saints ; '  that  Paul 
the  Theban  was  the  first  hermit,  and  Anthony  the  first 


246  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


csenobite  ?  Why,  Pythagoras  was  an  eremite,  and 
under  ground  for  seven  years :  and  his  daughter  was  an 
abbess.  Monks  and  hermits  were  in  the  East  long  be- 
fore Moses,  and  neither  old  Greece  nor  Eome  was  ever 
without  them.  As  for  St.  Francis  and  his  snowballs,  he 
did  but  mimic  Diogenes,  who,  naked,  embraced  statues 
on  which  snow  had  fallen.  The  folly  without  the  poetry. 
Ape  of  an  ape  —  for  Diogenes  was  but  a  mimic  therein 
of  the  Brahmins  and  Indian  gymnosophists.  Nathe- 
less,  the  children  of  this  Francis  bid  fair  to  pelt  us 
out  of  the  Church  with  their  snowballs.  Tell  me  now, 
Clement,  what  habit  is  lovelier  than  the  vestments  of 
our  priests  ?  Well,  we  owe  them  all  to  ISTuma  Pompilius, 
except  the  girdle  and  the  stole,  which  are  Judaical.  As 
for  the  amice  and  the  alb,  they  retain  the  very  names 
they  bore  in  Isuma's  day.  The  'pelt'  worn  by  the 
canons  comes  from  primeval  Paganism.  'Tis  a  relic  of 
those  rude  times  when  the  sacrificing  priest  wore  the 
skins  of  the  beasts  with  the  fur  outward.  Strip  off  thy 
black  gown,  Jerome,  thy  girdle  and  cowl,  for  they  come 
to  us  all  three  from  the  Pagan  ladies.  Let  thy  hair 
grow  like  Absalom's,  Jerome!  for  the  tonsure  is  as 
Pagan  as  the  Muses." 

"  Take  care  what  thou  sayest,"  said  Jerome,  sternly. 
"  We  know  the  very  year  in  which  the  Church  did  first 
ordain  it." 

"  But  not  invent  it,  Jerome.  The  Brahmins  wore  it  a 
few  thousand  years  ere  that.  From  them  it  came  through 
the  Assyrians  to  the  priests  of  Isis  in  Egypt,  and  after- 
wards of  Serapis  at  Athens.  The  late  Pope  (the  saints 
be  good  to  him)  once  told  me  the  tonsure  was  forbidden 
by  God  to  the  Levites  in  the  Pentateuch.  If  so,  this 
was  because  of  the  Egyptian  priests  wearing  it.  I  trust 
to  his  Holiness.  I  am  no  biblical  scholar.  The  Latin  of 
thy  namesake  Jerome  is  a  barrier  I  cannot  overleap. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  247 


'  Dixit  ad  me  Dominus  Dens.  Dixi  ad  Dominant  Deum? 
No,  thank  you,  holy  Jerome  ;  I  can  stand  a  good  deal, 
but  I  cannot  stand  thy  Latin.  Nay ;  give  me  the  New 
Testament !  'Tis  not  the  Greek  of  Xenophon  ;  but  'tis 
Greek.  And  there  be  heathen  sayings  in  it  too.  For 
St.  Paul  was  not  so  spiteful  against  them  as  thou.  When 
the  heathen  said  a  good  thing  that  suited  his  matter,  by 
Jupiter  he  just  took  it,  and  mixed  it  to  all  eternity  with 
the  inspired  text." 

"  Come  forth,  Clement,  come  forth ! "  said  Jerome 
rising ;  "  and  thou,  profane  monk,  know  that  but  for  the 
powerful  house  that  upholds  thee,  thy  accursed  heresy 
should  go  no  farther,  for  I  would  have  thee  burned  at 
the  stake."    And  he  strode  out  white  with  indignation. 

Colonna's  reception  of  this  threat  did  credit  to  him  as 
an  enthusiast.  He  ran  and  hallooed  joyfully  after 
Jerome :  "  And  that  is  Pagan.  Burning  of  men's 
bodies  for  the  opinions  of  their  souls  is  a  purely  Pagan 
custom  —  as  Pagan  as  incense,  holy  water,  a  hundred 
altars  in  one  church,  the  tonsure,  the  cardinal's  or 
flamen's  hat,  the  word  Pope,  the  "  — 

Here  Jerome  slammed  the  door. 

But  ere  they  could  get  clear  of  the  house  a  jalosy  was 
flung  open,  and  the  Paynim  monk  came  out  head  and 
shoulders,  and  overhung  the  street,  shouting  — 

"  '  Affecti  suppliciis  Christiani,  genus  hominum 
Novas  superstitionis  ac  maleficse.'" 

And  having  delivered  this  parting  blow,  he  felt  a  great 
triumphant  joy,  and  strode  exultant  to  and  fro ;  and  not 
attending  with  his  usual  care  to  the  fair  way  (for  his 
room  could  only  be  threaded  by  little  paths  wriggling 
among  the  antiquities),  tripped  over  the  beak  of  an 
Egyptian  stork,  and  rolled  upon  a  regiment  of  Armenian 
gods,  which  he  found  tough  in  argument  though  small  in 
stature. 


248 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  You  will  go  no  more  to  that  heretical  monk/'  said 
Jerome  to  Clement. 

Clement  sighed.  "  Shall  we  leave  him  and  not  try  to 
correct  him  ?  Make  allowance  for  heat  of  discourse  ;  he 
was  nettled.  His  words  are  worse  than  his  acts.  Oh ! 
'tis  a  pure  and  charitable  soul." 

"  So  are  all  arch-heretics.  Satan  does  not  tempt  them 
like  other  men.  Rather  he  makes  them  more  moral,  to 
give  their  teaching  weight.  Fra  Colonna  cannot  be  cor- 
rected ;  his  family  is  all-powerful  in  Rome.  Pray  we 
the  saints  he  blasphemes  to  enlighten  him.  'Twill  not 
be  the  first  time  they  have  returned  good  for  evil.  Mean- 
time thou  art  forbidden  to  consort  with  him.  From  this 
day  go  alone  through  the  city.  Confess  and  absolve 
sinners  ;  exorcise  demons  ;  comfort  the  sick ;  terrify 
the  impenitent;  preach  wherever  men  are  gathered 
and  occasion  serves  ;  and  hold  no  converse  with  the  Fra 
Colonna ! " 

Clement  bowed  his  head. 

Then  the  prior,  at  Jerome's  request,  had  the  young 
friar  watched.  And  one  day  the  spy  returned  with  the 
news  that  brother  Clement  had  passed  by  the  Fra 
Colonna's  lodging,  and  had  stopped  a  little  while  in 
the  street,  and  then  gone  on,  but  with  his  hand  to  his 
eyes,  and  slowty. 

This  report  Jerome  took  to  the  prior.  The  prior 
asked  his  opinion,  and  also  Anselm's,  who  was  then 
taking  leave  of  him  on  his  return  to  Juliers. 

Jerome.  Humph  !  He  obeyed,  but  with  regret,  ay, 
with  childish  repining. 

Anselm.  He  shed  a  natural  tear  at  turning  his  back 
on  a  friend  and  a  benefactor.    But  he  obeyed. 

Now  Anselm  was  one  of  your  gentle  irresistibles.  He 
had  at  times  a  mild  ascendant  even  over  J erome. 

"  Worthy  brother  Anselm,"  said  Jerome,  "  Clement  is 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  249 


weak  to  the  very  bone.  He  will  disappoint  thee.  He 
will  do  nothing  great,  either  for  the  Church  or  for  our 
holy  order.  Yet  he  is  an  orator,  and  hath  drunken  of 
the  spirit  of  St.  Dominic.   Fly  him,  then,  with  a  string." 

That  same  day  it  was  announced  to  Clement  that  he 
was  to  go  to  England  immediately  with  brother  Jerome. 

Clement  folded  his  hands  on  his  breast,  and  bowed  his 
head  in  calm  submission. 


250  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  HEARTH. 

A  Catherine  is  not  an  unmixed  good  in  a  strange 
house.  The  governing  power  is  strong  in  her.  She  has 
scarce  crossed  the  threshold  ere  the  utensils  seem  to 
brighten ;  the  hearth  to  sweep  itself ;  the  windows  to  let 
in  more  light ;  and  the  soul  of  an  enormous  cricket  to 
animate  the  dwelling-place.  But  this  cricket  is  a  busy- 
body. And  that  is  a  tremendous  character.  It  has  no 
discrimination.  It  sets  everything  to  rights,  and  every- 
body. Now  many  things  are  the  better  for  being  set  to 
rights.  But  everything  is  not.  Everything  is  the  one 
thing  that  won't  stand  being  set  to  rights,  except  in  that 
calm  and  cool  retreat,  the  grave. 

Catherine  altered  the  position  of  every  chair  and  table 
in  Margaret's  house,  and  perhaps  for  the  better. 

But  she  must  go  further,  and  upset  the  live  furniture. 

When  Margaret's  time  was  close  at  hand,  Catherine 
treacherously  invited  the  aid  of  Denys  and  Martin ;  and, 
on  the  poor,  simple-minded  fellows  asking  her  earnestly 
what  service  they  could  be,  she  told  them  they  might 
make  themselves  comparatively  useful  by  going  for  a 
little  walk.  So  far  so  good.  But  she  intimated  further 
that  should  the  promenade  extend  into  the  middle  of 
next  week,  all  the  better.    This  was  not  ingratiating. 

The  subsequent  conduct  of  the  strong  under  the  yoke 
of  the  weak  might  have  propitiated  a  she-bear  with 
three  cubs,  one  sickly.  They  generally  slipped  out  of 
the  house  at  daybreak,  and  stole  in  like  thieves  at  night ; 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH,  251 


and  if  by  any  chance  they  were  at  home,  they  went 
about  like  cats  on  a  wall  tipped  with  broken  glass,  and 
wearing  awe-struck  visages,  and  a  general  air  of  subjuga- 
tion and  depression. 

But  all  would  not  do.  Their  very  presence  was  ill- 
timed,  and  jarred  upon  Catherine's  nerves. 

Did  instinct  whisper,  a  pair  of  depopulators  had  no 
business  in  a  house  with  multipliers  twain  ? 

The  breastplate  is  no  armor  against  a  female  tongue, 
and  Catherine  ran  infinite  pins  and  needles  of  speech 
into  them.  In  a  word,  when  Margaret  came  down-stairs, 
she  found  the  kitchen  swept  of  heroes. 

Martin,  old  and  stiff,  had  retreated  no  farther  than  the 
street,  and  with  the  honors  of  war :  for  he  had  carried 
off  his  baggage,  a  stool,  and  sat  on  it  in  the  air. 

Margaret  saw  he  was  out  in  the  sun,  but  was  not 
aware  he  was  a  fixture  in  that  luminary.  She  asked  for 
Denys.  "  Good,  kind  Denys :  he  will  be  right  pleased 
to  see  me  about  again." 

Catherine,  wiping  a  bowl  with  now  superfluous  vigor, 
told  her  Denys  was  gone  to  his  friends  in  Burgundy. 
"And  high  time.  Hasn't  been  a-nigh  them  this  three 
years,  by  all  accounts." 

"  What,  gone  without  bidding  me  farewell  ? "  said 
Margaret,  opening  two  tender  eyes  like  full-blown 
violets. 

Catherine  reddened.  For  this  new  view  of  the  matter 
set  her  conscience  pricking  her. 

But  she  gave  a  little  toss,  and  said,  "Oh,  you  were 
asleep  at  the  time,  and  I  would  not  have  you  wakened." 

"  Poor  Denys,"  said  Margaret ;  and  the  dew  gathered 
visibly  on  the  open  violets. 

Catherine  saw  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye,  and,  with- 
out taking  a  bit  of  open  notice,  slipped  off  and  lavished 
hospitality  and  tenderness  on  the  surviving  depopulator. 


252  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


It  was  sudden ;  and  Martin  old  and  stiff  in  more  ways 
than  one. 

"No,  thank  you,  dame.  I  have  got  used  to  out  o' 
doors.  And  I  love  not  changing  and  changing.  I 
meddle  wi5  nobody  here,  and  nobody  meddles  wi'  me." 

"  Oh,  you  nasty,  cross,  old  wretch ! "  screamed  Cathe- 
rine, passing  in  a  moment  from  treacle  to  sharpest 
vinegar.    And  she  flounced  back  into  the  house. 

On  calm  reflection  she  had  a  little  cry.  Then  she  half 
reconciled  herself  to  her  conduct  by  vowing  to  be  so 
kind,  Margaret  should  never  miss  her  plagues  of  soldiers. 
But,  feeling  still  a  little  uneasy,  she  dispersed  all  regrets 
by  a  process  at  once  simple  and  sovereign. 

She  took  and  washed,  the  child. 

From  head  to  foot  she  washed  him  in  tepid  water; 
and  heroes,  and  their  wrongs,  became  as  dust  in  an  ocean 
—  of  soap  and  water. 

While  this  celestial  ceremony  proceeded,  Margaret 
could  not  keep  quiet.  She  hovered  round  the  fortunate 
performer.  She  must  have  an  apparent  hand  in  it,  if 
not  a  real.  She  put  her  finger  into  the  water  —  to  pave 
the  way  for  her  boy,  I  suppose,  for  she  could  not  have 
deceived  herself  so  far  as  to  think  Catherine  would 
allow  her  to  settle  the  temperature.  During  the  ablu- 
tion she  kneeled  down  opposite  the  little  Gerard,  and 
prattled  to  him  with  amazing  fluency ;  taking  care,  how- 
ever, not  to  articulate  like  grown-up  people;  for,  how 
could  a  cherub  understand  their  ridiculous  pronuncia- 
tion ? 

"I  wish  you  could  wash  out  that,"  said  she,  fLrng 
her  eyes  on  the  little  boy's  hand. 
"What?" 

"  What,  have  you  not  noticed  ?  on  his  little  finger." 
Granny  looked,  and  there  was  a  little  brown  mole. 
l-  Eh,  but  this  is  wonderful ! "  she  cried.    "  Nature,  my 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


253 


lass,  y'  are  strong,  and  meddlesome,  to  boot.  Hast 
noticed  such  a  mark  on  some  one  else  ?  Tell  the  truth, 
girl." 

"What,  on  him?    Nay,  mother,  not  I." 

"Well  then,  he  has,  and  on  the  very  spot.  And  you 
never  noticed  that  much.  But,  dear  heart,  I  forgot; 
you  hain't  known  him  from  child  to  man  as  I  have.  I 
have  had  him  hundreds  o'  times  on  my  knees,  the  same 
as  this,  and  washed  him  from  top  to  toe  in  lu-warm 
water."  And  she  swelled  with  conscious  superiority ; 
and  Margaret  looked  meekly  up  to  her  as  a  woman 
beyond  competition. 

Catherine  looked  down  from  her  dizzy  height,  and 
moralized.  She  differed  from  other  busybodies  in  this, 
that  she  now  and  then  reflected ;  not  deeply ;  or  of  course 
I  should  take  care  not  to  print  it. 

"It  is  strange,"  said  she,  "how  things  come  round  and 
about.  Life  is  but  a  whirligig.  Leastways,  we  poor 
women,  our  lives  are  all  cut  upon  one  pattern.  Wasn't 
I  for  washing  out  my  Gerard's  mole  in  his  young  days  ? 
1  Oh,  fie !  here's  a  foul  blot,'  quo'  I ;  and  scrubbed  away 
at  it  I  did  till  I  made  the  poor  wight  cry;  so  then  I 
thought  'twas  time  to  give  over.  And  now  says  you  to 
me,  '  Mother,'  says  you,  '  do  try  and  wash  yon  out  o'  my 
Gerard's  finger,'  says  you.    Think  on't ! " 

"  Wash  it  out  ?  "  cried  Margaret  "  I  wouldn't  for  all 
the  world.  Why,  it  is  the  sweetest  bit  in  his  little  dar- 
ling body.  I'll  kiss  it  morn  and  night  till  he,  that  owned 
it  first,  comes  back  to  us  three.  Oh,  bless  you,  my  jewel 
of  gold  and  silver,  for  being  marked  like  your  own  daddyv 
to  comfort  me." 

And  she  kissed  little  Gerard's  little  mole,  but  she 
could  not  stop  there ;  she  presently  had  him  sprawling 
on  her  lap,  and  kissed  his  back  all  over  again  and  again, 
and  seemed  to  worry  him  as  wolf  a  lamb.  Catherine 


254  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


looking  on  and  smiling.  She  had  seen  a  good  many  of 
these  savage  onslaughts  in  her  day. 

And  this  little  sketch  indicates  the  tenor  of  Margaret's 
life  for  several  months.  One  or  two  small  things  occurred 
to  her  during  that  time,  which  must  be  told;  but  I 
reserve  them,  since  one  string  will  serve  for  many  glass 
beads.  But,  while  her  boy's  father  was  passing  through 
those  fearful  tempests  of  the  soul,  ending  in  the  dead 
monastic  calm,  her  life  might  fairly  be  summed  in  one 
great  blissful  word :  — 

Maternity. 

You,  who  know  what  lies  in  that  word,  enlarge  my 
little  sketch,  and  see  the  young  mother  nursing  and 
washing,  and  dressing  and  undressing,  and  crowing  and 
gambolling  with  her  first-born ;  then  swifter  than  light- 
ning dart  your  eye  into  Italy,  and  see  the  cold  cloister ; 
and  the  monks  passing  like  ghosts,  eyes  down,  hands 
meekly  crossed  over  bosoms  dead  to  earthly  feelings. 

One  of  these  cowled  ghosts  is  he,  whose  return,  full 
of  love,  and  youth,  and  joy,  that  radiant  young  mother 
awaits. 

In  the  valley  of  Grindelwald  the  traveller  has  on  one 
side  the  perpendicular  Alps,  all  rock,  ice,  and  everlasting 
snow,  towering  above  the  clouds,  and  piercing  to  the 
sky ;  on  his  other  hand  little  every-day  slopes,  but  green 
as  emeralds,  and  studded  with  cows  and  pretty  cots,  and 
life;  whereas  those  lofty  neighbors  stand  leafless,  life- 
less, inhuman,  sublime.  Elsewhere  sweet  commonplaces 
of  nature  are  apt  to  pass  unnoticed ;  but,  fronting  the 
grim  Alps,  they  soothe,  and  even  gently  strike,  the  mind 
by  contrast  with  their  tremendous  opposites.  Such,  in 
their  way,  are  the  two  halves  of  this  story,  rightly  looked 
at ;  on  the  Italian  side  rugged  adventure,  strong  passion, 
blasphemy,  vice,  penitence,  pure  ice,  holy  snow,  soaring 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


255 


direct  at  heaven.  On  the  Dutch  side,  all  on  a  humble 
scale  and  womanish,  but  ever  green.  And  as  a  pathway 
parts  the  ice  towers  of  Grindelwald,  aspiring  to  the  sky, 
from  its  little  sunny  braes,  so  here  is  but  a  page  between 
"  the  Cloister  and  the  Hearth." 


256  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  CLOISTER. 

The  new  Pope  favored  the  Dominican  order.  The 
convent  received  a  message  from  the  Vatican,  requiring 
a  capable  friar  to  teach  at  the  University  of  Basle. 
Now  Clement  was  the  very  monk  for  this :  well  versed 
in  languages,  and  in  his  worldly  days  had  attended  the 
lectures  of  Guarini  the  younger.  His  visit  to  England 
was  therefore  postponed,  though  not  resigned ;  and  mean- 
time he  was  sent  to  Basle ;  but  not  being  wanted  there 
for  three  months,  he  was  to  preach  on  the  road. 

He  passed  out  of  the  northern  gate  with  his  eyes 
lowered,  and  the  whole  man  wrapped  in  pious  contem- 
plation. 

Oh,  if  we  could  paint  a  mind  and  its  story,  what  a 
walking  fresco  was  this  barefooted  friar ! 

Hopeful,  happy  love,  bereavement,  despair,  impiety, 
vice,  suicide,  remorse,  religious  despondency,  penitence, 
death  to  the  world,  resignation. 

And  all  in  twelve  short  months. 

And  now  the  traveller  was  on  foot  again.  But  all  was 
changed.  No  perilous  adventures  now.  The  very  thieves 
and  robbers  bowed  to  the  ground  before  him,  and,  instead 
of  robbing  him,  forced  stolen  money  on  him,  and  begged 
his  prayers. 

This  journey,  therefore,  furnished  few  picturesque 
incidents.  I  have,  however,  some  readers  to  think  of, 
who  care  little  for  melodrama,  and  expect  a  quiet  peep 
at  what  passes  inside  a  man.    To  such  students  things 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  257 

undramatic  are  often  vocal,  denoting  the  progress  of  a 
mind. 

The  first  Sunday  of  Clement's  journey  was  marked  by 
this.  He  prayed  for  the  soul  of  Margaret.  He  had 
never  done  so  before.  Not  that  her  eternal  welfare  was 
not  dearer  to  him  than  anything  on  earth.  It  was  his 
humility.  The  terrible  impieties  that  burst  from  him 
on  the  news  of  her  death  horrified  my  well-disposed 
readers  ;  but  not  as  on  reflection  they  horrified  him  who 
had  uttered  them.  For  a  long  time  during  his  novitiate 
he  was  oppressed  with  religious  despair.  He  thought 
he  must  have  committed  that  sin  against  the  Holy  Spirit 
which  dooms  the  soul  forever.  By  degrees  that  dark 
cloud  cleared  away,  Anselmo  juvante :  but  deep  self- 
abasement  remained.  He  felt  his  own  salvation  inse- 
cure ;  and,  moreover,  thought  it  would  be  mocking 
Heaven,  should  he,  the  deeply  stained,  pray  for  a  soul 
so  innocent,  comparatively,  as  Margaret's.  So  he  used 
to  coax  good  Anselm  and  another  kindly*  monk  to  pray 
for  her.  They  did  not  refuse,  nor  do  it  by  halves.  In 
general  the  good  old  monks  (and  there  were  good,  bad, 
and  indifferent,  in  every  convent)  had  a  pure  and  tender 
affection  for  their  younger  brethren,  which,  in  truth, 
was  not  of  this  world. 

Clement,  then,  having  preached  on  Sunday  morning  in 
a  small  Italian  town,  and  being  mightily  carried  onward, 
was  greatly  encouraged ;  and  that  day  a  balmy  sense  of 
God's  forgiveness  and  love  descended  on  him.  And  he 
prayed  for  the  welfare  of  Margaret's  soul.  And  from 
that  hour  this  became  his  daily  habit,  and  the  one  puri- 
fied tie  that  by  memory  connected  his  heart  with  earth. 

For  his  family  were  to  him  as  if  they  had  never  been. 

The  Church  would  not  share  with  earth,  nor  could  even 
the  Church  cure  the  great  love  without  annihilating  the 
smaller  ones. 


258  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

During  most  of  this  journey  Clement  rarely  felt  any 
spring  of  life  within  him,  but  when  he  was  in  the  pulpit. 
The  other  exceptions  were  when  he  happened  to  relieve 
some  fellow-creature. 

A  young  man  was  tarantula  bitten,  or  perhaps,  like 
many  more,  fancied  it.  Fancy  or  reality,  he  had  been 
for  two  days  without  sleep,  and  in  most  extraordinary 
convulsions,  leaping,  twisting,  and  beating  the  walls. 
The  village  musicians  had  only  excited  him  worse  with 
their  music.  Exhaustion  and  death  followed  the  dis- 
ease, when  it  gained  such  a  head.  Clement  passed  by 
and  learned  what  was  the  matter.  He  sent  for  a  psal- 
tery, and  tried  the  patient  with  soothing  melodies,  but, 
if  the  other  tunes  maddened  him,  Clement's  seemed  to 
crush  him.  He  groaned  and  moaned  under  them,  and 
grovelled  on  the  floor.  At  last  the  friar  observed  that 
at  intervals  his  lips  kept  going.  He  applied  his  ear,  and 
found  the  patient  was  whispering  a  tune,  and  a  very 
singular  one,  fhat  had  no  existence.  He  learned  this 
tune  and  played  it.  The  patient's  face  brightened  amaz- 
ingly. He  marched  about  the  room  on  the  light  fantas- 
tic toe,  enjoying  it ;  and  when  Clement's  fingers  ached 
nearly  off  with  playing  it,  he  had  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  the  young  man  sink  complacently  to  sleep  to  this 
lullaby,  —  the  strange  creation  of  his  own  mind ;  for  it 
seems  he  was  no  musician,  and  never  composed  a  tune 
before  or  after.  This  sleep  saved  his  life.  And  Clement, 
after  teaching  the  tune  to  another,  in  case  it  should  be 
wanted  again,  went  forward  with  his  heart  a  little 
warmer.  On  another  occasion  he  found  a  mob  haling  a 
decently-dressed  man  along,  who  struggled  and  vocif- 
erated, but  in  a  strange  language.  This  person  had 
walked  into  their  town  erect  and  sprightly,  waving  a 
mulberry  branch  over  his  head.  Thereupon  the  na- 
tives  first  gazed   stupidly,  not  believing  their  eyes, 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


259 


then  pounced  on  him  and  dragged  him  before  the 
podesta. 

Clement  went  with  them,  but  on  the  way  drew  quietly 
near  the  prisoner,  and  spoke  to  him  in  Italian;  no 
answer.  In  French,  German,  Dutch  ;  no  assets.  Then 
the  man  tried  Clement  in  tolerable  Latin,  but  with  a 
sharpish  accent.  He  said  he  was  an  Englishman,  and, 
oppressed  with  the  heat  of  Italy,  had  taken  a  bough  off 
the  nearest  tree  to  save  his  head.  "  In  my  country 
anybody  is  welcome  to  what  grows  on  the  highway. 
Confound  the  fools  !  I  am  ready  to  pay  for  it.  But  here 
is  all  Italy  up  in  arms  about  a  twig  and  a  handful  of 
leaves." 

The  pig-headed  podesta  would  have  sent  the  dogged 
islander  to  prison,  but  Clement  mediated,  and  with  some 
difficulty  made  the  prisoner  comprehend  that  silkworms, 
and  by  consequence  mulberry  leaves,  were  sacred,  being 
under  the  wing  of  the  sovereign,  and  his  source  of  in- 
come, and  urged  on  the  podesta  that  ignorance  of  his 
mulberry  laws  was  natural  in  a  distant  country,  where 
the  very  tree,  perhaps,  was  unknown.  The  opinionative 
islander  turned  the  still  vibrating  scale  by  pulling  out 
a  long  purse  and  repeating  his  original  theory,  that  the 
whole  question  was  mercantile.  "  Quid  damni?"  said  he. 
"Die:  et  cito  solvam."  The  podesta  snuffed  the  gold, 
fined  him  a  ducat  for  the  duke,  about  the  value  of  the 
whole  tree,  and  pouched  the  coin. 

The  Englishman  shook  off  his  ire  the  moment  he  was 
liberated,  and  laughed  heartily  at  the  whole  thing,  but 
was  very  grateful  to  Clement. 

"  You  are  too  good  for  this  hole  of  a  country,  father," 
said  he.  "  Come  to  England  !  That  is  the  only  place  in 
the  world.  I  was  an  uneasy  fool  to  leave  it,  and  wander 
among  mulberries  and  their  idiots.  I  am  a  Kentish 
squire,  and  educated  at  Cambridge  University.  My 


260  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

name  it  is  Rolfe,  my  place  Betshanger.  The  man  and 
the  house  are  both  at  your  service.  Come  over  and  stay 
till  domesday.  We  sit  down  forty  to  dinner  every  day 
at  Betshanger.  One  more  or  one  less  at  the  board  will 
not  be  seen.  You  shall  end  your  days  with  me  and  my 
heirs  if  you  will.  Come  now !  What  an  Englishman 
says,  he  means."  And  he  gave  him  a  great  hearty  grip 
of  the  hand  to  confirm  it. 

"  I  will  visit  thee  some  day,  my  son,"  said  Clement, 
"  but  not  to  weary  thy  hospitality." 

The  Englishman  then  begged  Clement  to  shrive  him. 
"I  know  not  what  will  become  of  my  soul,"  said  he. 
"  I  live  like  a  heathen  since  I  left  England." 

Clement  consented  gladly,  and  soon  the  islander  was 
on  his  knees  to  him  by  the  roadside,  confessing  the  last 
month's  sins. 

Finding  him  so  pious  a  son  of  the  Church,  Clement 
let  him  know  he  was  really  coming  to  England.  He  then 
asked  him  whether  it  was  true  that  country  was  overrun 
with  Lollards  and  Wickliffites. 

The  other  colored  up  a  little.  "  There  be  black  sheep 
in  every  land,"  said  he.  Then  after  some  reflection  he 
said  gravely,  "  Holy  father,  hear  the  truth  about  these 
heretics.  None  are  better  disposed  towards  holy  Church 
than  we  English.  But  we  are  ourselves,  and  by  our- 
selves. We  love  our  own  ways,  and,  above  all,  our  own 
tongue.  The  Norman  could  conquer  our  bill-hooks,  but 
not  our  tongues  ;  and  hard  they  tried  it  for  many  a  long 
year  by  law  and  proclamation.  Our  good  foreign  priests 
utter  God  to  plain  English  folk  in  Latin,  or  in  some 
French  or  Italian  lingo,  like  the  bleating  of  a  sheep. 
Then  come  the  fox  Wickliff  and  his  crew,  and  read  Him 
out  of  His  own  book  in  plain  English,  that  all  men's 
hearts  warm  to.  Who  can  withstand  this  ?  God  for- 
give me,  I  believe  the  English  would  turn  deaf  ears  to 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


261 


St.  Peter  himself,  spoke  he  not  to  them  in  the  tongue 
their  mothers  sowed  in  their  ears  and  their  hearts  along 
with  mothers'  kisses."  He  added  hastily,  "  I  say  not  this 
for  myself  ;  I  am  Cambridge  bred  :  and  good  words  come 
not  amiss  to  me  in  Latin,  but  for  the  people  in  gen- 
eral.   Clavis  ad  corda  Anglorum  est  lingua  materna" 

"My  son,"  said  Clement,  "blessed  be  the  hour  I  met 
thee,  for  thy  words  are  sober  and  wise.  But,  alas  !  how 
shall  I  learn  your  English  tongue  ?    No  book  have  I." 

"  I  would  give  you  my  book  of  hours,  father.  'Tis  in 
English  and  Latin,  cheek  by  jowl.  But  then,  what 
would  become  of  my  poor  soul,  wanting  my  '  hours  '  in 
a  strange  land  ?  Stay,  you  are  a  holy  man,  and  I  am  an 
honest  one  :  let  us  make  a  bargain,  you  to  pray  for  me 
every  day  for  two  months,  and  I  to  give  you  my  book  of 
hours.  Here  it  is.  What  say  you  to  that  ? "  And 
his  eyes  sparkled,  and  he  was  all  on  fire  with  mer- 
cantility. 

Clement  smiled  gently  at  this  trait,  and  quietly  de- 
tached a  MS.  from  his  girdle,  and  showed  him  that  it 
was  in  Latin  and  Italian. 

"  See,  my  son,"  said  he,  "  Heaven  hath  foreseen  our 
several  needs,  and  given  us  the  means  to  satisfy  them  : 
let  us  change  books ;  and,  my  dear  son,  I  will  give  thee 
my  poor  prayers  and  welcome,  not  sell  them  thee.  I 
love  not  religious  bargains." 

The  islander  was  delighted.  "So  shall  I  learn  the 
Italian  tongue  without  risk  to  my  eternal  weal.  Near  is 
my  purse,  but  nearer  is  my  soul." 

He  forced  money  on  Clement.  In  vain  the  friar  told 
him  it  was  contrary  to  his  vow  to  carry  more  of  that 
than  was  barely  necessary. 

"  Lay  it  out  for  the  good  of  the  Church  and  of  my 
soul,"  said  the  islander.  "  I  ask  you  not  to  keep  it,  but 
take  it  you  must  and  shall."    And  he  grasped  Clement's 


262 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


hand  warmly  again ;  and  Clement  kissed  him  on  the 
brow,  and  blessed  him,  and  they  went  each  his  way. 

About  a  mile  from  where  they  parted,  Clement  found 
two  tired  wayfarers  lying  in  the  deep  shade  of  a  great 
chestnut-tree,  one  of  a  thick  grove  the  road  skirted. 
Near  the  men  was  a  little  cart,  and  in  it  a  printing- 
press,  rude  and  clumsy  as  a  vine-press.  A  jaded  mule 
was  harnessed  to  the  cart. 

And  so  Clement  stood  face  to  face  with  his  old  enemy. 

And  as  he  eyed  it,  and  the  honest,  blue-eyed  faces  of 
the  wearied  craftsmen,  he  looked  back  as  on  a  dream  at 
the  bitterness  he  had  once  felt  towards  this  machine. 
He  looked  kindly  down  on  them  and  said  softly,  — 

"  Sweynheim  !  " 

The  men  started  to  their  feet. 

"  Pannartz ! " 

They  scuttled  into  the  wood,  and  were  seen  no  more. 

Clement  was  amazed,  and  stood  puzzling  himself. 

Presently  a  face  peeped  from  behind  a  tree. 

Clement  addressed  it.    "  What  fear  ye  ?  " 

A  quavering  voice  replied,  "  Say,  rather,  by  what 
magic  you,  a  stranger,  can  call  us  by  our  names  ?  I 
never  clapt  eyes  on  you  till  now." 

"  O  superstition !  I  know  ye,  as  all  good  workmen 
are  known,  —  by  your  works.  Come  hither  and  I  will 
tell  ye." 

They  advanced  gingerly  from  different  sides,  each 
regulating  his  advance  by  the  other's. 

"  My  children,"  said  Clement,  "  I  saw  a  Lactantius  in 
Borne,  printed  by  Sweynheim  and  Pannartz,  disciples  of 
Fust." 

"  D'ye  hear  that,  Pannartz  ?  our  work  has  gotten  to 
Eome  already." 

"  By  your  blue  eyes  and  flaxen  hair  I  wist  ye  were 
Germans  ;  and  the  printing-press  spoke  for  itself.  Who 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  263 


then  should  ye  be  but  Fust's  disciples,  Panuartz  and 
Sweynheim  ?  " 

The  honest  Germans  were  now  astonished  that  they 
had  suspected  magic  in  so  simple  a  matter. 

"  The  good  father  hath  his  wits  about  him,  that  is 
all,"  said  Pannartz. 

"Ay,"  said  Sweynheim,  "and  with  those  wits  would 
he  could  tell  us  how  to  get  this  tired  beast  to  the  next 
town." 

"  Yea,"  said  Sweynheim,  "  and  where  to  find  money  to 
pay  for  his  meat  and  ours  when  we  get  there." 

"  I  will  try,"  said  Clement.  "  Free  the  mule  of  the 
cart,  and  of  all  harness  but  the  bare  halter." 

This  was  done,  and  the  animal  immediately  lay  down 
and  rolled  on  his  back  in  the  dust  like  a  kitten.  Whilst 
he  was  thus  employed,  Clement  assured  them  he  would 
rise  up  a  new  mule.  "  His  Creator  hath  taught  him  this 
art  to  refresh  himself,  which  the  nobler  horse  knoweth 
not.  Now,  with  regard  to  money,  know  that  a  worthy 
Englishman  hath  intrusted  me  with  a  certain  sum  to 
bestow  in  charity.  To  whom  can  I  better  give  a  stran- 
ger's money  than  to  strangers  ?  Take  it,  then,  and  be 
kind  to  some  Englishman  or  other  stranger  in  his  need ; 
and  may  all  nations  learn  to  love  one  another  one  day." 

The  tears  stood  in  the  honest  workmen's  eyes.  They 
took  the  money  with  heartfelt  thanks. 

"  It  is  your  nation  we  are  bound  to  thank  and  bless, 
good  father,  if  we  but  knew  it." 

"  My  nation  is  the  Church." 

Clement  was  then  for  bidding  them  farewell,  but  the 
honest  fellows  implored  him  to  wait  a  little  ;  they  had 
no  silver  nor  gold,  but  they  had  something  they  could 
give  their  benefactor.  They  took  the  press  out  of  the 
cart,  and,  while  Clement  fed  the  mule,  they  bustled 
about,  now  on  the  white  hot  road,  now  in  the  deep  cool 


264  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


shade,  now  half  in  and  half  out,  and  presently  printed 
a  quarto  sheet  of  eight  pages,  which  was  already  set  up. 
They  had  not  type  enough  to  print  two  sheets  at  a  time. 
When,  after  the  slower  preliminaries,  the  printed  sheet 
was  pulled  all  in  a  moment,  Clement  was  amazed  in  turn. 

"What,  are  all  these  words  really  fast  upon  the 
paper  ?  "  said  he.  "  Is  it  verily  certain  they  will  not 
go  as  swiftly  as  they  came  ?  And  you  took  me  for  a 
magician !  'Tis  1  Augustine  de  Civitate  Dei.'  My  sons, 
you  carry  here  the  very  wings  of  knowledge.  Oh,  never 
abuse  this  great  craft !  Print  no  ill  books  !  They  would 
fly  abroad  countless  as  locusts,  and  lay  waste  men's 
souls." 

The  workmen  said  they  would  sooner  put  their  hands 
under  the  screw  than  so  abuse  their  goodly  craft. 
And  so  they  parted. 

There  is  nothing  but  meeting  and  parting  in  this 
world. 

At  a  town  in  Tuscany  the  holy  friar  had  a  sudden  and 
strange  rencontre  with  the  past.  He  fell  in  with  one  of 
those  motley  assemblages  of  patricians  and  plebeians, 
piety  and  profligacy,  "  a  company  of  pilgrims,"  —  a  sub- 
ject too  well  painted  by  others  for  me  to  go  and  daub. 

They  were  in  an  immense  barn  belonging  to  the  inn. 
Clement,  dusty  and  wearied,  and  no  lover  of  idle  gossip, 
sat  in  a  corner  studying  the  Englishman's  hours,  and 
making  them  out  as  much  by  his  own  Dutch  as  by  the 
Latin  version. 

Presently  a  servant  brought  a  bucket  half  full  of 
water,  and  put  it  down  at  his  feet.  A  female  servant 
followed  with  two  towels.  And  then  a  woman  came  for- 
ward, and,  crossing  herself,  kneeled  down  without  a  word 
at  the  bucket-side,  removed  her  sleeves  entirely,  and 
motioned  to  him  to  put  his  feet  into  the  water.  It  was 
some  lady  of  rank  doing  penance.    She  wore  a  mask 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  2G5 


scarce  an  inch  broad,  but  effectual.  Moreover,  she  han- 
dled the  friar's  feet  more  delicately  than  those  do  who 
are  born  to  such  offices. 

These  penances  were  not  uncommon ;  and  Clement, 
though  he  had  little  faith  in  this  form  of  contrition,  re- 
ceived the  services  of  the  incognita  as  a  matter  of 
course.  But  presently  she  sighed  deeply,  and,  with  her 
heartfelt  sigh  and  her  head  bent  low  over  her  menial 
office,  she  seemed  so  bowed  with  penitence,  that  he  pit- 
ied her,  and  said,  calmly  but  gently,  "  Can  I  aught  for 
your  soul's  weal,  my  daughter  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head  with  a  faint  sob.  "  Nought,  holy 
father,  nought :  only  to  hear  the  sin  of  her  who  is  most 
unworthy  to  touch  thy  holy  feet.  'Tis  part  of  my  pen- 
ance to  tell  sinless  men  how  vile  I  am." 

"  Speak,  my  daughter." 

"Father,"  said  the  lady,  bending  lower  and  lower, 
"these  hands  of  mine  look  white,  but  they  are  stained 
with  blood,  —  the  blood  of  the  man  I  loved.  Alas  !  you 
withdraw  your  foot.  Ah,  me  !  What  shall  I  do  ?  All 
holy  things  shrink  from  me." 

"Culpa  meal  culpa  mea ! "  said  Clement,  eagerly. 
"  My  daughter,  it  was  an  unworthy  movement  of  earthly 
weakness,  for  which  /  shall  do  penance.  Judge  not  the 
Church  by  her  feeble  servants.  Not  her  foot,  but  her 
bosom  is  offered  thee,  repenting  truly.  Take  courage, 
then,  and  purge  thy  conscience  of  its  load." 

On  this  the  lady  in  a  trembling  whisper  and  hurriedly, 
cringing  a  little,  as  if  she  feared  the  Church  would  strike 
her  bodily  for  what  she  had  done,  made  this  confession  : 

"He  was  a  stranger,  and  base  born,  but  beautiful  as 
Spring,  and  wise  beyond  his  years.  I  loved  him.  I  had 
not  the  prudence  to  conceal  my  love.  Nobles  courted 
me.  I  ne'er  thought  one  of  humble  birth  could  reject 
me.    I  showed  him  my  heart ;  oh,  shame  of  my  sex ! 


266  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

He  drew  back  ;  yet  he  admired  me  :  but  innocently.  He 
loved  another,  and  he  was  constant.  I  resorted  to  a  wom- 
an's wiles.  They  availed  not.  I  borrowed  the  wicked- 
ness of  men,  and  threatened  his  life,  and  to  tell  his  true 
lover  he  died  false  to  her.  Ah  !  you  shrink  ;  your  foot 
trembles.  Am  I  not  a  monster  ?  then  he  wept  and  prayed 
to  me  for  mercy ;  then  my  good  angel  helped  me  ;  I  bade 
him  leave  Eome.  Gerard,  Gerard,  why  did  you  not  obey 
me  ?  I  thought  he  was  gone.  But  two  months  after  this 
I  met  him.  ISTever  shall  I  forget  it.  I  was  descending 
the  Tiber  in  my  galley,  when  he  came  up  it  with  a  gay 
company,  and  at  his  side  a  woman  beautiful  as  an  angel, 
but  bold  and  bad.  That  woman  claimed  me  aloud  for 
her  rival.  Traitor  and  hypocrite,  he  had  exposed  me  to 
her,  and  to  all  the  loose  tongues  in  Eome.  In  terror  and 
revenge  I  hired  —  a  bravo.  When  he  was  gone  on  his 
bloody  errand,  I  wavered  too  late.  The  dagger  I  had 
hired  struck.  He  never  came  back  to  his  lodgings.  He 
was  dead.  Alas  !  perhaps  he  was  not  so  much  to  blame  : 
none  have  ever  cast  his  name  in  my  teeth.  His  poor  body 
is  not  found,  or  I  should  kiss  its  wounds,  and  slay  myself 
upon  it.  All  around  his  very  name  seems  silent  as  the 
grave,  to  which  this  murderous  hand  has  sent  him. 
(Clement's  eye  was  drawn  by  her  movement.  He  rec- 
ognized her  shapely  arm  and  soft  white  hand.)  "  And, 
oh,  he  was  so  young  to  die.  A  poor  thoughtless  boy, 
that  had  fallen  a  victim  to  that  bad  woman's  arts,  and 
she  had  made  him  tell  her  everything.  Monster  of 
cruelty,  what  penance  can  avail  me  ?  Oh,  holy  father, 
what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

Clement's  lips  moved  in  prayer,  but  he  was  silent.  He 
could  not  see  his  duty  clear. 

Then  she  took  his  feet  and  began  to  dry  them.  She 
rested  his  foot  upon  her  soft  arm,  and  pressed  it  with  the 
towel  so  gently  she  seemed  incapable  of  hurting  a  fly. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


267 


Yet  her  lips  had  just  told  another  story,  and  a  true 
one. 

While  Clement  was  still  praying  for  wisdom,  a  tear 
fell  upon  his  foot.  It  decided  him.  "My  daughter/' 
said  he,  "I  myself  have  been  a  great  sinner." 

"You,  father?" 

"  I ;  quite  as  great  a  sinner  as  thou,  though  not  in  the 
same  way.  The  devil  has  gins  and  snares,  as  well  as 
traps.  But  penitence  softened  my  impious  heart,  and 
then  gratitude  remoulded  it.  Therefore,  seeing  you  peni- 
tent, I  hope  you  can  be  grateful  to  Him,  who  has  been 
more  merciful  to  you  than  you  have  to  your  fellow  creat- 
ure.   Daughter,  the  Church  sends  you  comfort." 

"  Comfort  to  me  ?  ah  !  never  !  unless  it  can  raise  my 
victim  from  the  dead." 

"Take  this  crucifix  in  thy  hand,  fix  thine  eyes  on  it, 
and  listen  to  me,"  was  all  the  reply. 

"  Yes,  father ;  but  let  me  thoroughly  dry  your  feet 
first :  'tis  ill  sitting  in  wet  feet :  and  you  are  the  holiest 
man  of  all  whose  feet  I  have  washed.  I  know  it  by  your 
voice." 

"  Woman,  I  am  not.  As  for  my  feet,  they  can  wait 
their  turn.    Obey  thou  me  ! " 

"Yes,  father,"  said  the  lady,  humbly.  But  with  a 
woman's  evasive  pertinacity  she  wreathed  one  towel 
swiftly  round  the  foot  she  was  drying,  and  placed  his 
other  foot  on  the  dry  napkin ;  then  obeyed  his  command. 

And,  as  she  bowed  over  the  crucifix,  the  low,  solemn 
tones  of  the  friar  fell  upon  her  ear,  and  his  words  soon 
made  her  whole  body  quiver  with  various  emotions,  in 
quick  succession. 

"My  daughter,  he  you  murdered  —  in  intent  —  was  one 
Gerard,  a  Hollander.  He  loved  a  creature,  as  men  should 
love  none  but  their  Eedeemer  and  his  Church.  Heaven 
chastised  him.   A  letter  came  to  Rome.    She  was  dead." 


268 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  Poor  Gerard  !  Poor  Margaret ! "  moaned  the  peni« 
tent. 

Clement's  voice  faltered  at  this  a  moment.  But  soon, 
by  a  strong  effort,  he  recovered  all  his  calmness. 

"  His  feeble  nature  yielded,  body  and  soul,  to  the  blow. 
He  was  stricken  down  with  fever.  He  revived  only  to 
rebel  against  Heaven.    He  said,  1  There  is  no  God.'  " 

"  Poor,  poor  Gerard  ! " 

"  Poor  Gerard  ?  thou  feeble,  foolish  woman !  Nay, 
wicked,  impious  Gerard.  He  plunged  into  vice,  and 
soiled  his  eternal  jewel :  those  you  met  him  with  were 
his  daily  companions  :  but  know,  rash  creature,  that  the 
seeming  woman  you  took  to  be  his  leman  was  but  a  boy, 
dressed  in  woman's  habits  to  flout  the  others,  a  fair  boy 
called  Andrea.  What  that  Andrea  said  to  thee  I  know 
not ;  but  be  sure  neither  he,  nor  any  layman,  knows  thy 
folly.  This  Gerard,  rebel  against  Heaven,  was  no  traitor 
to  thee,  unworthy." 

The  lady  moaned  like  one  in  bodily  agony,  and  the 
crucifix  began  to  tremble  in  her  trembling  hands. 

"  Courage  !  "  said  Clement.    "  Comfort  is  at  hand. 

"  From  crime  he  fell  into  despair,  and,  bent  on  destroy- 
ing his  soul,  he  stood  one  night  by  Tiber,  resolved  on 
suicide.    He  saw  one  watching  him.    It  was  a  bravo." 

"Holy  saints!" 

"  He  begged  the  bravo  to  despatch  him  ;  he  offered 
him  all  his  money,  to  slay  him  body  and  soul.  The 
bravo  would  not.  Then  this  desperate  sinner,  not 
softened  even  by  that  refusal,  flung  himself  into  Tiber." 

"Ah!" 

"  And  the  assassin  saved  his  life.  Thou  hadst  chosen 
for  the  task  Lodovico,  husband  of  Teresa,  whom  this 
Gerard  had  saved  at  sea,  her  and  her  infant  child." 

"  He  lives  !  he  lives  !  he  lives  !    I  am  faint." 

The  friar  took  the  crucifix  from  her  hands,  fearing  it 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


269 


might  fall.  A  shower  of  tears  relieved  her.  The  friar 
gave  her  time ;  then  continued,  calmly,  "  Ay,  he  lives ; 
thanks  to  thee  and  thy  wickedness,  guided  to  his  eternal 
good  by  an  almighty  and  all-merciful  hand.  Thou  art 
his  greatest  earthly  benefactor." 

"  Where  is  he  ?  where  ?  where  ?  " 

"What  is  that  to  thee?" 

"  Only  to  see  him  alive.  To  beg  him  on  my  knees  to 
forgive  me.  I  swear  to  you  I  will  never  presume  again 
to  —  How  could  I  ?  He  knows  all.  Oh,  shame.  Father, 
does  he  know  ?  " 

"All." 

"  Then  never  will  I  meet  his  eye  ;  I  should  sink  into 
the  earth.  But  I  would  repair  my  crime.  I  would  watch 
his  life  unseen.  He  shall  rise  in  the  world,  whence  I  so 
nearly  thrust  him,  poor  soul ;  the  Csesare,  my  family,  are 
all-powerful  in  Rome  ;  and  I  am  near  their  head." 

"My  daughter,"  said  Clement,  coldly,  "he  you  call 
Gerard  needs  nothing  man  can  do  for  him.  Saved  by  a 
miracle  from  double  death,  he  has  left  the  world,  and 
taken  refuge  from  sin  and  folly  in  the  bosom  of  the 
Church." 

"A  priest?" 

"  A  priest,  and  a  friar." 

"  A  friar  ?  Then  you  are  not  his  confessor  ?  Yet  you 
know  all.    That  gentle  voice  ! " 

She  raised  her  head  slowly,  and  peered  at  him  through 
her  mask. 

The  next  moment  she  uttered  a  faint  shriek,  and  lay 
with  her  brow  upon  his  bare  feet. 


270 


THE  CLOISTER.  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Clement  sighed.  He  began  to  doubt  whether  he  had 
taken  the  wisest  course  with  a  creature  so  passionate. 

But  young  as  he  was,  he  had  already  learned  many 
lessons  of  ecclesiastical  wisdom.  For  one  thing  he  had 
been  taught  to  pause  :  i.e.,  in  certain  difficulties,  neither 
to  do  nor  to  say  anything,  until  the  matter  should  clear 
itself  a  little. 

He  therefore  held  his  peace  and  prayed  for  wisdom. 

All  he  did  was  gently  to  withdraw  his  foot. 

But  his  penitent  flung  her  arms  round  it  with  a  piteous 
cry,  and  held  it  convulsively,  and  wept  over  it. 

And  now  the  agony  of  shame,  as  well  as  penitence,  she 
was  in,  showed  itself  by  the  bright  red  that  crept  over 
her  very  throat,  as  she  lay  quivering  at  his  feet. 

"My  daughter,"  said  Clement,  gently,  "take  courage. 
Torment  thyself  no  more  about  this  Gerard,  who  is  not. 
As  for  me,  I  am  Brother  Clement,  whom  Heaven  hath 
sent  to  thee  this  day  to  comfort  thee,  and  help  thee  save 
thy  soul.  Thou  hast  made  me  thy  confessor.  I  claim, 
then,  thine  obedience." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  sobbed  the  penitent. 

"Leave  this  pilgrimage,  and  instant  return  to  Eome. 
Penitence  abroad  is  little  worth.  There  where  we  live 
lie  the  temptations  we  must  defeat,  or  perish ;  not  fly  in 
search  of  others  more  showy,  but  less  lethal.  Easy  to 
wash  the  feet  of  strangers,  masked  ourselves.  Hard  to 
be  merely  meek  and  charitable  with  those  about  us." 

"  I'll  never,  never,  lay  finger  on  her  again." 

"  Nay,  I  speak  not  of  servants  only,  but  of  dependents, 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


'ZT1 


kinsmen,  friends.  This  be  thy  penance  ;  the  last  thing 
at  night,  and  the  first  thing  after  matins,  call  to  mind 
thy  sin,  and  God  his  goodness  ;  and  so  be  humble  and 
gentle  to  the  faults  of  those  around  thee.  The  world  it 
courts  the  rich ;  but  seek  thou  the  poor :  not  beggars ; 
these  for  the  most  are  neither  honest  nor  truly  poor. 
But  rather  find  out  those  who  blush  to  seek  thee,  yet 
need  thee  sore.  Giving  to  them,  shalt  lend  to  heaven. 
Marry  a  good  son  of  the  Church." 
"  Me  ?    I  will  never  marry." 

"  Thou  wilt  marry  within  the  year.  I  do  entreat  and 
command  thee  to  marry  one  that  feareth  God ;  for  thou 
art  very  clay.  Mated  ill,  thou  shalt  be  naught.  But 
wedding  a  worthy  husband  thou  mayest,  Dei  gratia,  live 
a  pious  princess  j  ay,  and  die  a  saint." 

"  I  ?  " 

"  Thou." 

He  then  desired  her  to  rise  and  go  about  the  good 
work  he  had  set  her. 

She  rose  to  her  knees,  and,  removing  her  mask,  cast 
an  eloquent  look  upon  him,  then  lowered  her  eyes 
meekly. 

"  I  will  obey  you  as  I  would  an  angel.  How  happy  I 
am,  yet  unhappy ;  for,  oh,  my  heart  tells  me  I  shall  never 
look  on  you  again.  I  will  not  go  till  I  have  dried  your 
feet." 

"It  needs  not.  I  have  excused  thee  this  bootless 
penance." 

"  'Tis  no  penance  to  me.  Ah  !  you  do  not  forgive  me, 
if  you  will  not  let  me  dry  your  poor  feet." 

"  So  be  it,  then,"  said  Clement,  resignedly  ;  and  thought 
to  himself,  "Levius  quid  faimind" 

But  these  weak  creatures,  that  gravitate  towards  the 
small,  as  heavenly  bodies  towards  the  great,  have  yet 
their  own  flashes  of  angelic  intelligence. 


272  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


When  the  princess  had  dried  the  friar's  feet,  she  looked 
at  him  with  tears  in  her  beautiful  eyes,  and  murmured 
with  singular  tenderness  and  goodness,  — 

"  I  will  have  masses  said  for  her  soul.  May  I  ?  "  she 
added,  timidly. 

This  brought  a  faint  blush  into  the  monk's  cheek,  and 
moistened  his  cold  blue  eye.  It  came  so  suddenly  from 
one  he  was  just  rating  so  low. 

"  It  is  a  gracious  thought,"  he  said.  "  Do  as  thou  wilt : 
often  such  acts  fall  back  on  the  doer  like  blessed  dew. 
I  am  thy  confessor,  not  hers  ;  thine  is  the  soul  I  must 
now  do  my  all  to  save,  or  woe  be  to  my  own.  My  daugh- 
ter, my  dear  daughter,  I  see  good  and  ill  angels  fighting 
for  thy  soul  this  day,  ay,  this  moment ;  oh,  fight  thou  on 
thine  own  side.    Dost  thou  remember  all  I  bade  thee  ?  " 

"  Kemember  ! "  said  the  princess.  "  Sweet  saint,  each 
syllable  of  thine  is  graved  in  my  heart." 

"  But  one  word  more,  then.  Pray  much  to  Christ,  and 
little  to  His  saints." 

"I  will." 

"  And  that  is  the  best  word  I  have  light  to  say  to  thee. 
So  part  we  on  it.  Thou  to  the  place  becomes  thee  best, 
thy  father's  house :  I  to  my  holy  mother's  work." 

"  Adieu,"  faltered  the  princess.  "  Adieu  thou  that  I 
have  loved  too  well,  hated  too  ill,  known  and  revered  too 
late;  forgiving  angel,  adieu  —  forever." 

The  monk  caught  her  words,  though  but  faltered  in  a 
sigh. 

"  Forever  ? "  he  cried  aloud,  with  sudden  ardor. 
"  Christians  live  1  forever,'  and  love  '  forever,'  but  they 
never  part  '  forever.'  They  part,  as  part  the  earth  and 
sun,  to  meet  more  brightly  in  a  little  while.  You  and  I 
part  here  for  life.  And  what  is  our  life  ?  One  line  in 
the  great  story  of  the  Church,  whose  son  and  daughter 
we  are  j  one  handful  in  the  sand  of  time,  one  drop  in 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  273 


the  ocean  of  1  Forever.'  Adieu  —  for  the  little  moment 
called  '  a  life  ! 7  We  part  in  trouble,  we  shall  meet  in 
peace  :  we  part  creatures  of  clay,  we  shall  meet  immortal 
spirits :  we  part  in  a  world  of  sin  and  sorrow,  we  shall 
meet  where  all  is  purity  and  love  divine ;  where  no  ill 
passions  are,  but  Christ  is,  and  his  saints  around  Him 
clad  in  white.  There,  in  the  turning  of  an  hour-glass,  in 
the  breaking  of  a  bubble,  in  the  passing  of  a  cloud,  she, 
and  thou,  and  I,  shall  meet  again ;  and  sit  at  the  feet  of 
angels  and  archangels,  apostles  and  saints,  and  beam  like 
them  with  joy  unspeakable,  in  the  light  of  the  shadow  of 
God  upon  His  throne,  forever  —  and  ever  —  and  ever." 

And  so  they  parted.  The  monk  erect,  his  eyes  turned 
heavenwards  and  glowing  with  the  sacred  fire  of  zeal ; 
the  princess  slowly  retiring  and  turning  more  than  once 
to  cast  a  lingering  glance  of  awe  and  tender  regret  on 
that  inspired  figure. 

She  went  home  subdued,  and  purified.  Clement,  in 
due  course,  reached  Basle,  and  entered  on  his  duties, 
teaching  in  the  university,  and  preaching  in  the  town 
and  neighborhood.  He  led  a  life  that  can  be  comprised 
in  two  words  ;  deep  study  and  mortification.  My  reader 
has  already  a  peep  into  his  soul.  At  Basle  he  advanced 
in  holy  zeal  and  knowledge. 

The  brethren  of  his  order  began  to  see  in  him  a 
descendant  of  the  saints  and  martyrs. 


274  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  HEARTH. 

When  little  Gerard  was  nearly  three  months  old,  a 
messenger  came  hot  from  Tergon  for  Catherine. 

"  Now  just  you  go  back/'  said  she,  "  and  tell  them  I 
can't  come,  and  I  won't :  they  have  got  Kate."  So  he 
departed,  and  Catherine  continued  her  sentence  :  "  There, 
child,  I  must  go :  they  are  all  at  sixes  and  sevens :  this 
is  the  third  time  of  asking;  and  to-morrow  my  man 
would  come  himself  and  take  me  home  by  the  ear,  with 
a  flea  in't."  She  then  recapitulated  her  experiences  of 
infants,  and  instructed  Margaret  what  to  do  in  each  com- 
ing emergency,  and  pressed  money  upon  her.  Margaret 
declined  it  with  thanks.  Catherine  insisted,  and  turned 
angry.  Margaret  made  excuses  all  so  reasonable  that 
Catherine  rejected  them  with  calm  contempt;  to  her 
mind  they  lacked  femininity.  "Come,  out  with  your 
heart,"  said  she ;  "  and  you  and  me  parting  ;  and  mayhap 
shall  never  see  one  another's  face  again." 

"  Oh !  mother,  say  not  so." 

"  Alack,  girl,  I  have  seen  it  so  often  ;  'twill  come  into 
my  mind  now  at  each  parting.  When  I  was  your  age, 
I  never  had  such  a  thought.  Nay,  we  were  all  to  live 
forever  then  :  so  out  wi'  it." 

"  Well,  then,  mother  —  I  would  rather  not  have  told 
you  —  your  Cornells  must  say  to  me,  '  So  you  are  come 
to  share  with  us,  eh,  mistress  ?  '  those  were  his  words. 
I  told  him  I  would  be  very  sorry." 

"  Beshrew  his  ill  tongue  !  What  signifies  it  ?  He  will 
never  know." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  275 


"  Most  likely  he  would  sooner  or  later.  But,  whether 
or  no,  I  will  take  no  grudged  bounty  from  any  family ; 
unless  I  saw  my  child  starving,  and  then  Heaven  only 
knows  what  I  might  do.  Nay,  mother,  give  me  but  thy 
love  —  I  do  prize  that  above  silver,  and  they  grudge  me 
not  that,  by  all  I  can  find  —  for  not  a  stiver  of  money 
will  I  take  out  of  your  house." 

"  You  are  a  foolish  lass.  Why,  were  it  me,  I'd  take  it 
just  to  spite  him." 

"No,  you  would  not.  You  and  I  are  apples  off  one 
tree." 

Catherine  yielded  with  a  good  grace  ;  and,  when  the 
actual  parting  came,  embraces  and  tears  burst  forth  on 
both  sides. 

When  she  was  gone  the  child  cried  a  good  deal ;  and 
all  attempts  to  pacify  him  failing,  Margaret  suspected  a 
pin,  and,  searching  between  his  clothes  and  his  skin, 
found  a  gold  angel  incommoding  his  backbone. 

"There,  now,  Gerard,"  said  she  to  the  babe;  "I 
thought  granny  gave  in  rather  sudden" 

She  took  the  coin  and  wrapped  it  in  a  piece  of  linen, 
and  laid  it  at  the  bottom  of  her  box,  bidding  the  infant 
observe  she  could  be  at  times  as  resolute  as  granny 
herself. 

Catherine  told  Eli  of  Margaret's  foolish  pride,  and 
how  she  had  baffled  it.  Eli  said  Margaret  was  right, 
and  she  was  wrong.  Catherine  tossed  her  head.  Eli 
pondered. 

Margaret  was  not  without  domestic  anxieties.  She  had 
still  two  men  to  feed,  and  could  not  work  so  hard  as  she 
had  done.  She  had  enough  to  do  to  keep  the  house,  and 
the  child,  and  cook  for  them  all.  But  she  had  a  little 
money  laid  by,  and  she  used  to  tell  her  child  his  father 
would  be  home  to  help  them  before  it  was  spent.  And 
with  these  bright  hopes,  and  that  treasury  of  bliss,  her 
boy,  she  spent  some  happy  months. 


276  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


Time  wore  on:  and  no  Gerard  eame;  and,  stranger 
still,  no  news  of  him. 

Then  her  mind  was  disquieted,  and,  contrary  to  her 
nature,  which  was  practical,  she  was  often  lost  in  sad 
reverie;  and  sighed  in  silence.  And,  while  her  heart 
was  troubled,  her  money  was  melting.  And  so  it  was, 
that  one  day  she  found  the  cupboard  empty,  and  looked 
in  her  dependents'  faces ;  and,  at  the  sight  of  them,  her 
bosom  was  all  pity;  and  she  appealed  to  the  baby 
whether  she  could  let  grandfather  and  poor  old  Martin 
want  a  meal ;  and  went  and  took  out  Catherine's  angel. 
As  she  unfolded  the  linen  a  tear  of  gentle  mortification 
fell  on  it.  She  sent  Martin  out  to  change  it.  While  he 
was  gone  a  Frenchman  came  with  one  of  the  dealers  in 
illuminated  work,  who  had  offered  her  so  poor  a  price. 
He  told  her  he  was  employed  by  his  sovereign  to  collect 
masterpieces  for  her  book  of  hours.  Then  she  showed 
him  the  two  best  things  she  had ;  and  he  was  charmed 
with  one  of  them,  viz.,  the  flowers  and  raspberries  and 
creeping  things,  which  Margaret  Van  Eyck  had  shaded. 
He  offered  her  an  unheard-of  price.  "Nay,  flout  not 
my  need,  good  stranger,"  said  she:  "three  mouths  there 
be  in  this  house,  and  none  to  fill  them  but  me." 

Curious  arithmetic  !    Left  out  No.  1. 

"I  flout  thee  not,  fair  mistress.  My  princess  charged 
me  strictly,  'Seek  the  best  craftsmen;  but  I  will  no 
hard  bargains ;  make  them  content  with  me,  and  me 
with  them.' " 

The  next  minute  Margaret  was  on  her  knees  kissing 
little  Gerard  in  the  cradle,  and  showering  four  gold 
pieces  on  him  again  and  again,  and  relating  the  whole 
occurrence  to  him  in  very  broken  Dutch. 

"And  oh,  what  a  good  princess  :  wasn't  she  ?  We  will 
pray  for  her,  won't  we,  my  lambkin ;  when  we  are  old 
enough  ?  " 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


277 


Martin  came  in  furious.  "They  will  not  change  it, 
I  trow  they  think  I  stole  it." 

"  I  am  beholden  to  thee,"  said  Margaret,  hastily,  and 
almost  snatched  it  from  Martin,  and  wrapped  it  up  again, 
and  restored  it  to  its  hiding-place. 

Ere  these  unexpected  funds  were  spent,  she  got  to  her 
ironing  and  starching  again.  In  the  midst  of  which 
Martin  sickened;  and  died  after  an  illness  of  nine 
days. 

Nearly  all  her  money  went  to  bury  him  decently. 

He  was  gone ;  and  there  was  an  empty  chair  by  her 
fireside.  For  he  had  preferred  the  hearth  to  the  sun  as 
soon  as  the  busybody  was  gone. 

Margaret  would  not  allow  anybody  to  sit  in  this  chair 
now.  Yet  whenever  she  let  her  eye  dwell  too  long  on  it, 
vacant,  it  was  sure  to  cost  her  a  tear. 

And  now  there  was  nobody  to  carry  her  linen  home. 
To  do  it  herself  she  must  leave  little  Gerard  in  charge 
of  a  neighbor.  But  she  dared  not  trust  such  a  treasure 
to  mortal ;  and  besides  she  could  not  bear  him  out  of 
her  sight  for  hours  and  hours.  So  she  set  inquiries  on 
foot  for  a  boy  to  carry  her  basket  on  Saturday  and 
Monday. 

A  plump,  fresh-colored  youth,  called  Luke  Peterson, 
who  looked  fifteen,  but  was  eighteen,  came  in,  and  blush- 
ing, and  twiddling  his  bonnet,  asked  her  if  a  man  would 
not  serve  her  turn  as  well  as  a  boy. 

Before  he  spoke  she  was  saying  to  herself,  "  This  boy 
will  just  do." 

But  she  took  the  cue,  and  said,  "  Nay ;  but  a  man  will 
maybe  seek  more  than  I  can  well  pay." 

"  Not  I,"  said  Luke,  warmly.  "  Why,  Mistress  Mar- 
garet, I  am  your  neighbor,  and  I  do  very  well  at  the 
coopering.  I  can  carry  your  basket  for  you  before  or 
after  my  day's  work,  and  welcome.    You  have  no  need 


278 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


to  pay  me  anything.  'Tisn't  as  if  we  were  strangers,  ye 
know." 

"  Why,  Master  Luke.  I  know  your  face,  for  that  matter ; 
but  I  cannot  call  to  mind  that  ever  a  word  passed 
between  us." 

"  Oh  yes,  you  did,  Mistress  Margaret.  What,  have 
you  forgotten  ?  One  day  you  were  trying  to  carry  your 
baby  and  eke  your  pitcher  full  o'  water :  and  quo'  I, 
'  Give  me  the  baby  to  carry.'  'Nay/  says  you,  'I'll  give 
you  the  pitcher,  and  keep  the  bairn  myself : '  and  I  car- 
ried the  pitcher  home,  and  you  took  it  from  me  at  this 
door,  and  you  said  to  me,  '  I  am  muckle  obliged  to  you, 
young  man,'  with  such  a  sweet  voice  ;  not  like  the  folk 
in  this  street  speak  to  a  body." 

"  I  do  mind  now,  Master  Luke  ;  and  methinks  it  was 
the  least  I  could  say."  . 

'•'Well,  Mistress  Margaret,  if  you  will  say  as  much 
every  time  I  carry  your  basket,  I  care  not  how  often  I 
bear  it,  nor  how  far." 

"Nay,  nay,"  said  Margaret,  coloring  faintly.  "I 
would  not  put  upon  good  nature.  You  are  young,  Master 
Luke,  and  kindly.  Say  I  give  you  your  supper  on 
Saturday  night,  when  you  bring  the  linen  home,  and 
your  dawn-mete  o'  Monday  ;  would  that  make  us  anyways 
even  ?  " 

"  As  you  please ;  only  say  not  I  sought  a  couple  o' 
diets,  I,  for  such  a  trifle  as  yon." 

With  chubby-faced  Luke's  timely  assistance,  and  the 
health  and  strength  which  Heaven  gave  this  poor  young 
woman,  to  balance  her  many  ills,  the  house  went  pretty 
smoothly  awhile.  But  the  heart  became  more  and  more 
troubled  by  Gerard's  long  and  now  most  mysterious 
silence. 

And  then  that  mental  torturer,  Suspense,  began  to 
tear  her  heavy  heart  with  his  hot  pincers,  till  she  cried 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


279 


often  and  vehemently,  "Oh,  that  I  could  know  the 
worst." 

While  she  was  in  this  state,  one  day  she  heard  a  heavy 
step  mount  the  stair.  She  started  and  trembled.  "That 
is  no  step  that  I  know  ;  ill  tidings  ?  " 

The  door  opened,  and  an  unexpected  visitor,  Eli,  came 
in,  looking  grave  and  kind. 

Margaret  eyed  him  in  silence,  and  with  increasing 
agitation. 

"  Girl,"  said  he,  "  the  skipper  is  come  back." 

"  One  word,"  gasped  Margaret,  "  is  he  alive  ?  " 

"  Surely,  I  hope  so.    No  one  has  seen  him  dead." 

"  Then  they  must  have  seen  him  alive." 

"  No,  girl ;  neither  dead  nor  alive  hath  he  been  seen 
this  many  months  in  Rome.  My  daughter  Kate  thinks 
he  is  gone  to  some  other  city.  She  bade  me  tell  you  her 
thought." 

"Ay,  like  enough,"  said  Margaret,  gloomily;  "like 
enough.    My  poor  babe  !  " 

The  old  man  in  a  faintish  voice  asked  her  for  a  morsel 
to  eat :  he  had  come  fasting. 

The  poor  thing  pitied  him  with  the  surface  of  her 
agitated  mind,  and  cooked  a  meal  for  him,  trembling,  and 
scarce  knowing  what  she  was  about. 

Ere  he  went  he  laid  his  hand  upon  her  head,  and  said, 
"Be  he  alive,  or  be  he  dead,  I  look  on  thee  as  my 
daughter.  Can  I  do  nought  for  thee  this  day  ?  Bethink 
thee  now." 

"  Ay,  old  man.    Pray  for  him  ;  and  for  me  !  " 

Eli  sighed,  and  went  sadly  and  heavily  down  the  stairs. 

She  listened  half  stupidly  to  his  retiring  footsteps  till 
they  ceased.  Then  she  sank  moaning  down  by  the  cra- 
dle, and  drew  little  Gerard  tight  to  her  bosom.  "Oh, 
my  poor  fatherless  boy ;  my  fatherless  boy  ! " 


280  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Not  long  after  this,  as  the  little  family  at  Tergou  sat 
at  dinner,  Luke  Peterson  burst  in  on  them,  covered  with 
dust.  "Good  people,  Mistress  Catherine  is  wanted  in- 
stantly at  Rotterdam." 

"My  name  is  Catherine,  young  man.  Kate,  it  will  be 
Margaret." 

"  Ay,  dame,  she  said  to  me,  '  Good  Luke,  hie  thee  to 
Tergou,  and  ask  for  Eli  the  hosier,  and  pray  his  wife 
Catherine  to  come  to  me,  for  God  his  love/  I  didn't 
wait  for  daylight." 

"  Holy  saints  !  He  has  come  home,  Kate.  Nay,  she 
would  sure  have  said  so.  What  on  earth  can  it  be  ? " 
And  she  heaped  conjecture  on  conjecture. 

"  Mayhap  the  young  man  can  tell  us,"  hazarded  Kate, 
timidly. 

"  That  I  can,"  said  Luke.  "  Why,  her  babe  is  a-dying. 
And  she  was  so  wrapped  up  in  it !  " 

Catherine  started  up :  "  What  is  his  trouble  ?  " 

"  Nay,  I  know  not.  But  it  has  been  peaking  and  pining 
worse  and  worse  this  while.  " 

A  furtive  glance  of  satisfaction  passed  between  Cor- 
nells and  Sybrandt.  Luckily  for  them  Catherine  did 
not  see  it.  Her  face  was  turned  towards  her  husband. 
"Now  Eli,"  cried  she,  furiously,  "if  you  say  a  word 
against  it,  you  and  I  shall  quarrel,  after  all  these  years." 

"Who  gainsays  thee,  foolish  woman?  Quarrel  with 
your  own  shadow ;  while  I  go  borrow  Peter's  mule  for 
ye." 

"  Bless  thee,  my  good  man !    Bless  thee  !    Didst  never 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  281 


yet  fail  me  at  a  pinch.  Now  eat  your  dinners  who  can, 
while  I  go  and  make  ready." 

She  took  Luke  back  with  her  in  the  cart,  and,  on  the 
way,  questioned  and  cross-questioned  him,  severely,  and 
seductively,  by  turns,  till  she  had  turned  his  mind  inside 
out,  what  there  was  of  it. 

Margaret  met  her  at  the  door,  pale  and  agitated,  and 
threw  her  arms  round  her  neck,  and  looked  imploringly 
in  her  face. 

"  Come,  he  is  alive,  thank  God,"  said  Catherine,  after 
scanning  her  eagerly. 

She  looked  at  the  failing  child,  and  then  at  the  poor 
hollow-eyed  mother,  alternately.  "Lucky  you  sent  for 
me,"  said  she.    "  The  child  is  poisoned." 

"  Poisoned  !  by  whom  ?  " 

"  By  you.    You  have  been  fretting." 

"  Nay,  indeed,  mother.    How  can  I  help  fretting  ?  " 

"  Don't  tell  me,  Margaret.  A  nursing  mother  has  no 
business  to  fret.  She  must  turn  her  mind  away  from 
her  grief  to  the  comfort  that  lies  in  her  lap.  Know  you 
not  that  the  child  pines  if  the  mother  vexes  herself  ? 
This  comes  of  your  reading  and  writing.  Those  idle 
crafts  befit  a  man ;  but  they  keep  all  useful  knowledge 
out  of  a  woman.    The  child  must  be  weaned." 

"  Oh,  you  cruel  woman,"  cried  Margaret,  vehemently  ; 
"  I  am  sorry  I  sent  for  you.  Would  you  rob  me  of  the 
only  bit  of  comfort  I  have  in  the  world  ?  A-nursing  my 
Gerard,  I  forget  I  am  the  most  unhappy  creature  beneath 
the  sun." 

"  That  you  do  not,"  was  the  retort,  "  or  he  would  not 
be  the  way  he  is." 

"  Mother  ! "  said  Margaret,  imploringly. 

"'Tis  hard,"  replied  Catherine,  relenting.  "But  be- 
think thee  ;  would  it  not  be  harder  to  look  down  and  see 
his  lovely  wee  face  a-looking  up  at  you  out  of  a  little 
coffin?" 


282  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  0  Jesu  ! " 

"And  how  could  you  face  your  other  troubles  with 
your  heart  aye  full,  and  your  lap  empty  ?  " 

"  Oh,  mother,  I  consent  to  anything.  Only  save  my 
boy." 

"  That  is  a  good  lass.  Trust  to  me  !  I  do  stand  by, 
and  see  clearer  than  thou." 

Unfortunately  there  was  another  consent  to  be  gained  ; 
the  babe's  :  and  he  was  more  refractory  than  his  mother. 

"  There,"  said  Margaret,  trying  to  affect  regret  at  his 
misbehavior ;  "  he  loves  me  too  well." 

But  Catherine  was  a  match  for  them  both.  As  she 
came  along  she  had  observed  a  healthy  young  woman, 
sitting  outside  her  own  door,  with  an  infant,  hard  by. 
She  went  and  told  her  the  case;  and  would  she  nurse 
the  pining  child  for  the  nonce,  till  she  had  matters  ready 
to  wean  him  ? 

The  young  woman  consented  with  a  smile,  and  popped 
her  child  into  the  cradle,  and  came  into  Margaret's  house. 
She  dropped  a  courtesy,  and  Catherine  put  the  child  into 
her  hands.  She  examined,  and  pitied  it,  and  purred  over 
it,  and  proceeded  to  nurse  it,  just  as  if  it  had  been  her 
own. 

Margaret,  who  had  been  paralyzed  at  her  assurance, 
cast  a  rueful  look  at  Catherine,  and  burst  out  crying. 

The  visitor  looked  up.  "  What  is  to  do  ?  Wife,  ye 
told  me  not  the  mother  was  unwilling." 

"  She  is  not :  she  is  only  a  fool.  Never  heed  her  ;  and 
you,  Margaret,  I  am  ashamed  of  you." 

"  You  are  a  cruel,  hard-hearted  woman,"  sobbed  Mar- 
garet. 

"  Them  as  take  in  hand  to  guide  the  weak,  need  be 
hardish.  And  you  will  excuse  me  ;  but  you  are  not  my 
flesh  and  blood :  and  your  boy  is." 

After  giving  this  blunt  speech  time  to  sink,  she  added, 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  283 


u  Come  now,  she  is  robbing  her  own  to  save  yours,  and 
you  can  think  of  nothing  better  than  bursting  out  a-blub- 
bering  in  the  woman's  face.    Out,  fie,  for  shame  !  " 

"  Nay,  wife,"  said  the  nurse.  "  Thank  Heaven,  I  have 
enough  for  my  own  and  for  hers  to  boot.  And  prithee 
wyte  not  on  her !  Maybe  the  troubles  o'  life  ha'  soured 
her  own  milk." 

"  And  her  heart  into  the  bargain,"  said  the  remorseless 
Catherine. 

Margaret  looked  her  full  in  the  face ;  and  down  went 
her  eyes. 

"  I  know  I  ought  to  be  very  grateful  to  you,"  sobbed 
Margaret  to  the  nurse  :  then  turned  her  head  and  leaned 
away  over  the  chair  not  to  witness  the  intolerable  sight 
of  another  nursing  her  Gerard,  and  Gerard  drawing  no 
distinction  between  this  new  mother,  and  her  the  ban- 
ished one. 

The  nurse  replied,  "  You  are  very  welcome,  my  poor 
woman.  And  so  are  you,  mistress  Catherine,  which  are 
my  townswoman,  and  know  it  not." 

"  What,  are  ye  from  Tergou  ?  all  the  better.  But  I 
cannot  call  your  face  to  mind." 

"  Oh,  you  know  not  me  :  my  husband  and  me,  we  are 
very  humble  folk  by  you.  But  true  Eli  and  his  wife  are 
known  of  all  the  town ;  and  respected.  So,  I  am  at  your 
call,  dame ;  and  at  yours,  wife ;  and  yours,  my  pretty 
poppet ;  night  or  day." 

"  There's  a  woman  of  the  right  old  sort,"  said  Cath- 
erine, as  the  door  closed  upon  her. 

"  I  hate  her.  I  hate  her.  I  hate  her,"  said  Margaret 
with  wonderful  fervor. 

Catherine  only  laughed  at  this  outburst. 

"  That  is  right,"  said  she,  "  better  say  it,  as  set  sly  and 
think  it.  It  is  very  natural,  after  all.  Come,  here  is 
your  bundle  o'  comfort.  Take  and  hate  thatj  if  ye 
can ;  "  and  she  put  the  child  in  her  lap. 


2S4  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEAETH. 


u  No,  no  ;  n  said  Margaret,  turning  her  head  half  away 
from  him ;  she  could  not  for  her  life  turn  the  other 
half.  "  He  is  not  my  child  now ;  he  is  hers.  I  know 
not  why  she  left  him  here,  for  my  part.  It  was  very 
good  of  her  not  to  take  him  to  her  house,  cradle  and  all ; 
oh!  oh!  oh!  oh:  oh:  oh:  oh:  oh: 

"Ah!  well,  one  comfort,  he  is  not  dead.  This  gives 
me  light;  some  other  woman  has  got  him  away  from 
me  ;  like  father,  like  son  ;  oh  :  oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  oh  ! " 

Catherine  was  sorry  for  her,  and  let  her  cry  in  peace. 
And  after  that,  when  she  wanted  J oan's  aid,  she  used  to 
take  Gerard  out,  to  give  him  a  little  fresh  air.  Margaret 
never  objected,  nor  expressed  the  least  incredulity;  but 
on  their  return  was  always  in  tears. 

This  connivance  was  short-lived.  She  was  now  alto- 
gether as  eager  to  wean  little  Gerard.  It  was  done ;  and 
he  recovered  health  and  vigor :  and  another  trouble  fell 
upon  him  directly  :  teething.  But  here  Catherine's  expe- 
rience was  invaluable  :  and  now,  in  the  midst  of  her  grief 
and  anxiety  about  the  father,  Margaret  had  moments 
of  bliss,  watching  the  son's  tiny  teeth  come  through. 
"  Teeth,  mother  ?  I  call  them  not  teeth,  but  pearls  of 
pearls.*'  And  each  pearl  that  peeped  and  sparkled  on 
his  red  gums,  was  to  her  the  greatest  feat  nature  had 
ever  achieved. 

Her  companion  partook  the  illusion.  And,  had  we 
told  them  a  field  of  standing  corn  was  equally  admirable, 
Margaret  would  have  changed  to  a  reproachful  gazelle, 
and  Catherine  turned  us  out  of  doors ;  so  each  pearl's 
arrival  was  announced  with  a  shriek  of  triumph  by 
whichever  of  them  was  the  fortunate  discoverer. 

Catherine  gossiped  with  Joan  and  learned  that  she  was 
the  wife  of  Jorian  Ketel  of  Tergou,  who  had  been  servant 
to  Ghysbrecht  Van  Swieten,  but  fallen  out  of  favor,  and 
come  back  to  Rotterdam,  his  native  place.    His  friends 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  285 


had  got  him  the  place  of  sexton  to  the  parish,  and  what 
with  that  and  carpentering  he  did  pretty  well. 

Catherine  told  Joan  in  return  whose  child  it  was  she 
had  nursed,  and  all  about  Margaret  and  Gerard,  and  the 
deep  anxiety  his  silence  had  plunged  them  in.  "  Ay," 
said  Joan,  "  the  world  is  full  of  trouble."  One  day  she 
said  to  Catherine,  "  It's  my  belief  my  man  knows  more 
about  your  Gerard  than  anybody  in  these  parts  :  but  he 
has  got  to  be  closer  than  ever  of  late.  Drop  in  some 
day  just  afore  sunset,  and  set  him  talking.  And,  for  our 
Lady's  sake,  say  not  I  set  you  on.  The  only  hiding  he 
ever  gave  me  was  for  babbling  his  business  :  and  I  do 
not  want  another.  Gramercy  !  I  married  a  man  for  the 
comfort  of  the  thing,  not  to  be  hided." 

Catherine  dropped  in.  Jorian  was  ready  enough  to 
tell  her  how  he  had  befriended  her  son  and  perhaps 
saved  his  life.  But  this  was  no  news  to  Catherine :  and 
the  moment  she  began  to  cross-question  him  as  to 
whether  he  could  guess  why  her  lost  boy  neither  came- 
nor  wrote,  he  cast  a  grim  look  at  his  wife,  who  received 
it  with  a  calm  air  of  stolid  candor  and  innocent  uncon- 
sciousness; and  his  answers  became  short  and  sullen. 
"  What  should  he  know  more  than  another  ?  "  and  so  on. 
He  added,  after  a  pause,  "Think  you  the  burgomaster 
takes  such  as  me  into  his  secrets  ?  " 

"  Oh,  then  the  burgomaster  knows  something  ?  "  said 
Catherine,  sharply. 

"  Likely.    Who  else  should  ?  " 

"  I'll  ask  him." 

"  I  would." 

"  And  tell  him  you  say  he  knows." 

"That  is  right,  dame.  Go  make  him  mine  enemy. 
That  is  what  a  poor  fellow  always  gets  if  lie  says  a  word 
to  you  women."  And  Jorian  from  that  moment  shrunk 
in  and  became  impenetrable  as  a  hedgehog,  and  almost 
as  prickly. 


280 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  TTIE  HEARTH. 


His  conduct  caused  both,  the  poor  women  agonies  of 
mind;  alarm,  and  irritated  curiosity.  Ghysbrecht  was 
for  some  cause  Gerard's  mortal  enemy ;  had  stopped  his 
marriage,  imprisoned  him,  hunted  him.  And  here  was 
his  late  servant,  who  when  off  his  guard  had  hinted  that 
this  enemy  had  the  clew  to  Gerard's  silence.  After  sift- 
ing Jorian's  every  word  and  look,  all  remained  dark  and 
mysterious.  Then  Catherine  told  Margaret  to  go  herself 
to  him.  "You  are  young;  you  are  fair.  You  will,  maybe, 
get  more  out  of  him  than  I  could." 

The  conjecture  was  a  reasonable  one. 

Margaret  went  with  her  child  in  her  arms  and  tapped 
timidly  at  Jorian's  door  just  before  sunset.  "  Come  in," 
said  a  sturdy  voice.  She  entered,  and  there  sat  Jorian 
by  the  fireside.  At  sight  of  her  he  rose,  snorted,  and 
burst  out  of  the  house.  "  Is  that  for  me,  wife  ?  "  in- 
quired Margaret,  turning  very  red. 

"  You  must  excuse  him,"  replied  Joan,  rather  coldly ; 
"  he  lays  it  to  your  door  that  he  is  a  poor  man  instead  of 
a  rich  one.  It  is  something  about  a  piece  of  parchment. 
There  was  one  a-missing,  and  he  got  nought  from  the 
burgomaster  all  along  of  that  one." 

"Alas!  Gerard  took  it." 

"  Likely.  But  my  man  says  you  should  not  have  let 
him:  you  were  pledged  to  him  to  keep  them  all  safe. 
And,  sooth  to  say,  I  blame  not  my  Jorian  for  being 
wroth.  'Tis  hard  for  a  poor  man  to  be  so  near  fortune 
and  lose  it  by  those  he  has  befriended.  However,  I  tell 
him  another  story.  Says  I,  'Folk  that  are  out  o'  trouble, 
like  you  and  me,  didn't  ought  to  be  too  hard  on  folk  that 
are  in  trouble :  and  she  has  plenty.'  Going  already  ? 
What  is  all  your  hurry,  mistress  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  is  not  for  me  to  drive  the  good  man  out  of  his 
own  house." 

"  Well,  let  me  kiss  the  bairn  afore  ye  go.  He  is  not 
in  fault  any  way;  poor  innocent." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  287 

Upon  this  cruel  rebuff  Margaret  came  to  a  resolution, 
which,  she  did  not  confide  even  to  Catherine. 

After  six  weeks'  stay  that  good  woman  returned  home. 

On  the  child's  birthday,  which  occurred  soon  after, 
Margaret  did  no  work :  but  put  on  her  Sunday  clothes, 
and  took  her  boy  in  her  arms  and  went  to  the  church 
and  prayed  there  long  and  fervently  for  Gerard's  safe 
return. 

That  same  day  and  hour  Father  Clement  celebrated  a 
mass  and  prayed  for  Margaret's  departed  soul  in  the 
minster  church  at  Basle. 


288 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Some  blackguard  or  other,  I  think  it  was  Sybrandt, 
said,  "  A  lie  is  not  like  a  blow  with  a  curtal  axe." 

True ;  for  we  can  predict  in  some  degree  the  conse- 
quences of  a  stroke  with  any  material  weapon.  But  a 
lie  has  no  bounds  at  all.  The  nature  of  the  thing  is  to 
ramify  beyond  human  calculation. 

Often  in  the  every-day  world  a  lie  has  cost  a  life,  or 
laid  waste  two  or  three. 

And  so,  in  this  story,  what  tremendous  consequences 
of  that  one  heartless  falsehood  ! 

Yet  the  tellers  reaped  little  from  it. 

The  brothers,  who  invented  it  merely  to  have  one 
claimant  the  less  for  their  father's  property,  saw  little 
Gerard  take  their  brother's  place  in  their  mother's  heart, 
Nay,  more,  one  day  Eli  openly  proclaimed  that,  Gerard 
being  lost,  and  probably  dead,  he  had  provided  by  will 
for  little  Gerard,  and  also  for  Margaret,  his  poor  son's 
widow. 

At  this  the  look  that  passed  between  the  black  sheep 
was  a  caution  to  traitors.  Cornells  had  it  on  his  lips 
to  say  Gerard  was  most  likely  alive.  But  he  saw  his 
mother  looking  at  him,  and  checked  himself  in  time. 

Ghysbrecht  Van  Swieten,  the  other  partner  in  that  lie, 
was  now  a  failing  man.  He  saw  the  period  fast  approach- 
ing when  all  his  wealth  would  drop  from  his  body,  and 
his  misdeeds  cling  to  his  soul. 

Too  intelligent  to  deceive  himself  entirely,  he  had 
never  been  free  from  gusts  of  remorse.  In  taking 
Gerard's  letter  to  Margaret  he  had  compounded.    "  I 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  289 


cannot  give  up  land  and  money,"  said  his  giant  Avarice. 
"  I  will  cause  her  no  unnecessary  pain,"  said  his  dwarf 
Conscience. 

So,  after  first  tampering  with  the  seal,  and  finding 
there  was  not  a  syllable  about  the  deed,  he  took  it  to 
her  with  his  own  hand,  and  made  a  merit  of  it  to  him- 
self ;  a  set-off ;  and  on  a  scale  not  uncommon  where  the 
self-accuser  is  the  judge. 

The  birth  of  Margaret's  child  surprised  and  shocked 
him,  and  put  his  treacherous  act  in  a  new  light.  Should 
his  letter  take  effect  he  should  cause  the  dishonor  of 
her,  who  was  the  daughter  of  one  friend,  the  grand- 
daughter of  another,  and  whose  land  he  was  keeping 
from  her  too. 

These  thoughts  preying  on  him  at  that  period  of  life, 
when  the  strength  of  body  decays,  and  the  memory  of 
old  friends  revives,  filled  him  with  gloomy  horrors.  Yet 
he  was  afraid  to  confess.  For  the  cure  was  an  honest 
man,  and  would  have  made  him  disgorge.  And  with  him 
Avarice  was  an  ingrained  habit,  Penitence  only  a  senti- 
ment. 

Matters  were  thus  when,  one  day,  returning  from  the 
town  hall  to  his  own  house,  he  found  a  woman  waiting 
for  him  in  the  vestibule,  with  a  child  in  her  arms.  She 
was  veiled,  and  so,  concluding  she  had  something  to  be 
ashamed  of,  he  addressed  her  magisterially.  On  this 
she  let  down  her  veil  and  looked  him  full  in  the  face. 

It  was  Margaret  Brandt. 

Her  sudden  appearance  and  manner  startled  him,  and 
he  could  not  conceal  his  confusion. 

"  Where  is  my  Gerard  ?  "  cried  she,  her  bosom  heav- 
ing.   "  Is  he  alive  ?  " 

"For  aught  I  know,"  stammered  Ghysbrecht.  "I 
hope  so,  for  your  sake.  Prithee  come  into  this  room. 
The  servants ! " 


290  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  Not  a  step,"  said  Margaret,  and  she  took  him  by  the 
shoulder,  and  held  him  with  all  the  energy  of  an  excited 
woman.  "  You  know  the  secret  of  that  which  is  break- 
iug  my  heart.  Why  does  not  my  Gerard  come,  nor  send 
a  line  this  many  months  ?  Answer  me,  or  all  the  town 
is  like  to  hear  me ;  let  alone  thy  servants.  My  misery 
is  too  great  to  be  sported  with." 

In  vain  he  persisted  he  knew  nothing  about  Gerard. 
She  told  him  those  who  had  sent  her  to  him  told  her 
another  tale.  "  You  do  know  why  he  neither  comes  nor 
sends,"  said  she  firmly. 

At  this  Ghysbrecht  turned  paler  and  paler;  but  he 
summoned  all  his  dignity,  and  said,  "  Would  you  believe 
those  two  knaves  against  a  man  of  worship  ?  " 

"  What  two  knaves  ?  "  said  she  keenly. 

He  stammered,  "  Said  ye  not  ?  —  There,  I  am  a  poor 
old  broken  man,  whose  memory  is  shaken.  And  you 
come  here,  and  confuse  me  so.    I  know  not  what  I  say." 

"  Ay,  sir,  your  memory  is  shaken,  or  sure  you  would 
not  be  my  enemy.  My  father  saved  you  from  the  plague, 
when  none  other  would  come  anigh  you,  and  was  ever 
your  friend.  My  grandfather  Floris  helped  you  in  your 
early  poverty,  and  loved  you,  man  and  boy.  Three  gen- 
erations of  us  you  have  seen ;  and  here  is  the  fourth  of 
us ;  this  is  your  old  friend  Peter's  grandchild,  and  your 
old  friend  Floris  his  great-grandchild.  Look  down  on 
his  innocent  face,  and  think  of  theirs  ! " 

"Woman,  you  torture  me,"  sighed  Ghysbrecht,  and 
sank  upon  a  bench.  But  she  saw  her  advantage,  and 
kneeled  before  him,  and  put  the  boy  on  his  knees. 
"This  fatherless  babe  is  poor  Margaret  Brandt's,  that 
never  did  you  ill,  and  comes  of  a  race  that  loved  you. 
Nay,  look  at  his  face.  'Twill  melt  thee  more  than  any 
word  of  mine.  Saints  of  heaven,  what  can  a  poor  deso- 
late girl  and  her  babe  have  done  to  wipe  out  all  memory 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  291 


of  thine  own  young  days,  when  thou  wert  guiltless  as 
he  is,  that  now  looks  up  in  thy  face  and  implores  thee 
to  give  him  back  his  father  ?  " 

And  with  her  arms  under  the  child  she  held  him  up 
higher  and  higher,  smiling  under  the  old  man's  eyes. 

He  cast  a  wild  look  of  anguish  on  the  child,  and 
another  on  the  kneeling  mother,  and  started  up  shriek- 
ing, "  Avaunt,  ye  pair  of  adders  !  " 

The  stung  soul  gave  the  old  limbs  a  momentary  vigor, 
and  he  walked  rapidly,  wringing  his  hands  and  clutching 
at  his  white  hair.  "  Forget  those  days  ?  I  forget  all 
else.  Oh,  woman,  woman,  sleeping  or  waking  I  see  but 
the  faces  of  the  dead,  I  hear  but  the  voices  of  the  dead, 
and  I  shall  soon  be  among  the  dead.  There,  there,  what 
is  done  is  done.    I  am  in  hell.    I  am  in  hell." 

And  unnatural  force  ended  in  prostration. 

He  staggered,  and  but  for  Margaret  would  have  fallen. 
With  her  one  disengaged  arm  she  supported  him  as  well 
as  she  could,  and  cried  for  help. 

A  couple  of  servants  came  running,  and  carried  him 
away  in  a  state  bordering  on  syncope.  The  last  Marga- 
ret saw  of  him  was  his  old  furrowed  face,  white  and 
helpless  as  his  hair  that  hung  down  over  the  servant's 
elbow. 

"Heaven  forgive  me,"  she  said.  "1  doubt  I  have 
killed  the  poor  old  man." 

Then  this  attempt  to  penetrate  the  torturing  mystery 
left  it  as  dark,  or  darker  than  before.  For  when  she 
came  to  ponder  every  word,  her  suspicion  was  confirmed 
that  Ghysbrecht  did  know  something  about  Gerard. 
"  And  who  were  the  two  knaves  he  thought  had  done  a 
good  deed,  and  told  me  ?  Oh,  my  Gerard,  my  poor 
deserted  babe,  you  and  I  are  wading  in  deep  waters." 

The  visit  to  Tergou  took  more  money  than  she  could 
well  afford :  and  a  customer  ran  away  in  her  debt.  She 


292  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


was  once  more  compelled  to  unfold  Catherine's  angel. 
But,  strange  to  say,  as  she  came  down-stairs  with  it  in 
her  hand,  she  found  some  loose  silver  on  the  table,  with 
a  written  line,  "  For  Gerard  his  wyfe." 

She  fell  with  a  cry  of  surprise  on  the  writing ;  and 
soon  it  rose  into  a  cry  of  joy. 

"He  is  alive.  He  sends  me  this  by  some  friendly 
hand." 

She  kissed  the  writing  again  and  again,  and  put  it  in 
her  bosom. 

Time  rolled  on  :  and  no  news  of  Gerard. 

And  about  every  two  months  a  small  sum  in  silver 
found  its  way  into  the  house.  Sometimes  it  lay  on  the 
table.  Once  it  was  flung  in  through  the  bedroom  window 
in  a  purse.  Once  it  was  at  the  bottom  of  Luke's  basket. 
He  had  stopped  at  the  public  house  to  talk  to  a  friend. 
The  giver  or  his  agent  was  never  detected.  Catherine 
disowned  it.  Margaret  Van  Eyck  swore  she  had  no 
hand  in  it.  So  did  Eli.  And  Margaret,  whenever  it 
came,  used  to  say  to  little  Gerard,  "  Oh,  my  poor  deserted 
child,  you  and  I  are  wading  in  deep  waters." 

She  applied  at  least  half  this  modest,  but  useful  sup- 
ply, to  dressing  the  little  Gerard  beyond  his  station  in 
life.  "If  it  does  come  from  Gerard,  he  shall  see  his 
boy  neat."  All  the  mothers  in  the  street  began  to  sneer, 
especially  such  as  had  brats  out  at  elbows. 

The  months  rolled  on,  and  dead  sickness  of  heart 
succeeded  to  these  keener  torments.  She  returned  to 
her  first  thought :  "  Gerard  must  be  dead.  She  should 
never  see  her  boy's  father  again,  nor  her  marriage  lines." 
This  last  grief,  which  had  been  somewhat  allayed  by 
Eli  and  Catherine  recognizing  her  betrothal,  now  revived 
in  full  force ;  others  would  not  look  so  favorably  on  her 
story.  And  often  she  moaned  over  her  boy's  illegiti- 
macy.   "  Is  it  not  enough  for  us  to  be  bereaved  ?  Must 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  293 


we  be  dishonored  too  ?  Oh,  that  we  had  ne'er  been 
born." 

A  change  took  place  in  Peter  Brandt.  His  mind, 
clouded  for  nearly  two  years,  seemed  now  to  be  clearing; 
he  had  intervals  of  intelligence ;  and  then  he  and  Mar- 
garet used  to  talk  of  Gerard,  till  he  wandered  again. 
But  one  day,  returning  after  an  absence  of  some  hours, 
Margaret  found  him  conversing  with  Catherine,  in  a  way 
he  had  never  done  since  his  paralytic  stroke.  "  Ah,  girl, 
why  must  you  be  out  ?  "  said  she.  "  But  indeed  I  have 
told  him  all ;  and  we  have  been  a-crying  together  over 
thy  troubles." 

Margaret  stood  silent,  looking  joyfully  from  one  to  the 
other. 

Peter  smiled  on  her,  and  said,  "Come,  let  me  bless 
thee." 

She  kneeled  at  his  feet,  and  he  blessed  her  most  elo- 
quently. He  told  her  she  had  been  all  her  life  the 
lovingest,  truest,  and  most  obedient  daughter  Heaven 
ever  sent  to  a  poor  old  widowed  man.  "  May  thy  son  be 
to  thee  what  thou  hast  been  to  me  ! " 

After  this  he  dozed.  Then  the  females  whispered 
together  :  and  Catherine  said,  "  All  our  talk  e'en  now  was 
of  Gerard.  It  lies  heavy  on  his  mind.  His  poor  head 
must  often  have  listened  to  us  when  it  seemed  quite 
dark.  Margaret,  he  is  a  very  understanding  man ;  he 
thought  of  many  things :  '  He  may  be  in  prison,'  says 
he,  '  or  forced  to  go  fighting  for  some  king,  or  sent  to 
Constantinople  to  copy  books  there,  or  gone  into  the 
Church  after  all.'    He  had  a  bent  that  way." 

"  Ah,  mother,"  whispered  Margaret,  in  reply,  "  he  doth 
but  deceive  himself  as  we  do." 

Ere  she  could  finish  the  sentence,  a  strange  interrup- 
tion occurred. 

A  loud  voice  cried  out,  "  I  see  him.    I  see  him." 


294  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


And  the  old  man  with  dilating  eyes  seemed  to  be 
looking  right  through  the  wall  of  the  house. 

"  In  a  boat ;  on  a  great  river ;  coming  this  way.  Sore 
disfigured  :  but  I  knew  him.    Gone  !  gone  !  all  dark." 

And  he  sank  back,  and  asked  feebly  where  was 
Margaret. 

"  Dear  father,  I  am  by  thy  side.  Oh,  mother  !  mother, 
what  is  this  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  see  thee,  and  but  a  moment  agone  I  saw  all 
round  the  world.  Ay,  ay.  Well,  I  am  ready.  Is  this 
thy  hand  ?  Bless  thee,  my  child,  bless  thee !  Weep 
not !    The  tree  is  ripe." 

The  old  physician  read  the  signs  aright.  These  calm 
words  were  his  last.  The  next  moment  he  drooped  his 
head,  and  gently,  placidly,  drifted  away  from  earth,  like 
an  infant  sinking  to  rest.  The  torch  had  flashed  up, 
before  going  out. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  295 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

She  who  had  wept  for  poor  old  Martin  was  not  likely 
to  bear  this  blow  so  stoically  as  the  death  of  the  old  is 
apt  to  be  borne.  In  vain  Catherine  tried  to  console  her 
with  commonplaces ;  in  vain  told  her  it  was  a  happy 
release  for  him ;  and  that,  as  he  himself  had  said,  the 
tree  was  ripe.  But  her  worst  failure  was,  when  she 
urged  that  there  were  now  but  two  mouths  to  feed :  and 
one  care  the  less. 

"  Such  cares  are  all  the  joys  I  have/'  said  Margaret. 
"  They  fill  my  desolate  heart,  which  now  seems  void  as 
well  as  waste.  Oh,  empty  chair,  my  bosom  it  aches  to 
see  thee.  Poor  old  man,  how  could  I  love  him  by  halves, 
I  that  did  use  to  sit  and  look  at  him  and  think  'Bat  for 
me  thou  wouldst  die  of  hunger.'  He,  so  wise,  so  learned 
erst,  was  got  to  be  helpless  as  my  own  sweet  babe,  and  I 
loved  him  as  if  he  had  been  my  child  instead  of  my 
father.  Oh,  empty  chair !  Oh,  empty  heart !  Well-a- 
day  !  well-a-day  !  " 

And  the  pious  tears  would  not  be  denied. 

Then  Catherine  held  her  peace :  and  hung  her  head. 
And  one  day  she  made  this  confession,  "  I  speak  to  thee 
out  o'  my  head,  and  not  out  o'  my  bosom  ;  thou  dost  well 
to  be  deaf  to  me.  Were  I  in  thy  place  I  should  mourn 
the  old  man  all  one  as  thou  dost." 

Then  Margaret  embraced  her,  and  this  bit  of  true 
sympathy  did  her  a  little  good.  The  commonplaces  did 
none. 

Then  Catherine's  bowels  yearned  over  her,  and  she 
said,  "  My  poor  girl,  you  were  not  born  to  live  alone.  I 


296  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


have  got  to  look  on  you  as  my  own  daughter.  Waste  not 
thine  youth  upon  my  son  Gerard.  Either  he  is  dead,  or 
he  is  a  traitor.  It  cuts  my  heart  to  say  it ;  but  who  can 
help  seeing  it  ?  Thy  father  is  gone  ;  and  I  cannot  always 
be  aside  thee.  And  here,  is  an  honest  lad  that  loves  thee 
well  this  many  a  day.  I'd  take  him  and  comfort  to- 
gether.  Heaven  hath  sent  us  these  creatures  to  torment 
us  and  comfort  us  and  all ;  we  are  just  nothing  in  the 
world  without  'em."  Then  seeing  Margaret  look  utterly 
perplexed,  she  went  on  to  say,  "  Why,  sure  you  are  not 
so  blind  as  not  to  see  it  ?  " 

"What?  Who?" 

"Who  but  this  Luke  Peterson?" 

"  What,  our  Luke  ?  The  boy  that  carries  my  basket  ?  " 

"  Nay,  he  is  over  nineteen,  and  a  fine,  healthy  lad ;  and 
I  have  made  inquiries  for  you ;  and  they  all  do  say  he  is 
a  capable  workman,  and  never  touches  a  drop ;  and  that 
is  much  in  a  Rotterdam  lad,  which  they  are  mostly  half 
man  half  sponge." 

Margaret  smiled  for  the  first  time  this  many  days. 
"  Luke  loves  dried  puddings  dearly,"  said  she ;  "  and  I 
make  them  to  his  mind.  'Tis  them  he  comes  a-courting 
here."  Then  she  suddenly  turned  red.  "  But  if  I 
thought  he  came  after  your  son's  wife  that  is,  or  ought 
to  be,  I'd  soon  put  him  to  the  door." 

"  Nay,  nay ;  for  Heaven's  sake  let  me  not  make  mis- 
chief. Poor  lad !  Why,  girl,  fancy  will  not  be  bridled. 
Bless  you,  I  wormed  it  out  of  him  near  a  twelvemonth 
agone." 

"  0  mother  !  and  you  let  him  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  thought  of  you.  I  said  to  myself,  1  If  he  is 
fool  enough  to  be  her  slave  for  nothing,  all  the  better  for 
her.  A  lone  woman  is  lost  without  a  man  about  her  to 
fetch  and  carry  her  little  matters.'  But  now  my  mind  is 
changed,  and  I  think  the  best  use  you  can  put  him  to,  is 
to  marry  him." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


297 


u  So  then  his  own  mother  is  against  him,  and  would 
wed  me  to  the  first  comer.  Ah,  Gerard,  thou  hast  but 
me ;  I  will  not  believe  thee  dead  till  I  see  thy  tomb,  nor 
false  till  I  see  thee  with  another  lover  in  thine  hand. 
Foolish  boy,  I  shall  ne'er  be  civil  to  him  again." 

Afflicted  with  the  busybody's  protection,  Luke  Peter- 
son met  a  cold  reception  in  the  house  where  he  had 
hitherto  found  a  gentle  and  kind  one.  And  by-and-by, 
finding  himself  very  little  spoken  to  at  all,  and  then 
sharply  and  irritably,  the  great  soft  fellow  fell  to  whim- 
pering, and  asked  Margaret  plump  if  he  had  done  any- 
thing to  offend  her. 

"  Nothing.  I  am  to  blame.  I  am  cursed.  If  you  will 
take  my  counsel  you  will  keep  out  of  my  way  awhile." 

"  It  is  all  along  of  me,  Luke,"  said  the  busybody. 

"  You,  Mistress  Catherine.  Why,  what  have  I  done 
for  you  to  set  her  against  me  ?  " 

"  Nay,  I  meant  all  for  the  best.  I  told  her  I  saw  you 
were  looking  towards  her  through  a  wedding-ring.  But 
she  won't  hear  of  it." 

"  There  was  no  need  to  tell  her  that,  wife,  she  knows  I 
am  courting  her  this  twelvemonth." 

" Not  I,"  said  Margaret :  "or  I  should  never  have 
opened  the  street  door  to  you." 

"  Why,  I  come  here  every  Saturday  night.  And  that 
is  how  the  lads  in  Eotterdam  do  court.  If  we  sup  with 
a  lass  o'  Saturdays,  that's  wooing." 

"  Oh,  that  is  Eotterdam,  is  it  ?  Then  next  time  you 
come,  let  it  be  Thursday,  or  Friday.  For  my  part,  I 
thought  you  came  after  my  puddings,  boy." 

"  I  like  your  puddings  well  enough.  You  make  them 
better  than  mother  does.  But  I  like  you  still  better  than 
the  puddings,"  said  Luke,  tenderly. 

"  Then  you  have  seen  the  last  of  them.  How  dare  you 
talk  so  to  another  man's  wife,  and  him  far  away  ?  "  She 


298  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

ended  gently,  but  very  firmly,  "You  need  not  trouble 
yourself  to  come  here  any  more,  Luke;  I  can  carry  my 
basket  myself." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Luke ;  and,  after  sitting  silent 
and  stupid  for  a  little  while,  he  rose,  and  said  sadly  to 
Catherine,  "  Dame,  I  dare  say  I  have  got  the  sack ; "  and 
went  out. 

But  the  next  Saturday  Catherine  found  him  seated  on 
the  door-step  blubbering.  He  told  her  he  had  got  used 
to  come  there,  and  every  other  place  seemed  strange. 
She  went  in,  and  told  Margaret ;  and  Margaret  sighed, 
and  said,  "Poor  Luke,  he  might  come  in  for  her,  if  he 
could  know  his  place,  and  treat  her  like  a  married  wife." 
On  this  being  communicated  to  Luke,  he  hesitated. 
"  Pshaw ! "  said  Catherine,  "  promises  are  pie-crusts. 
Promise  her  all  the  world,  sooner  than  sit  outside  like 
a  fool,  when  a  word  will  carry  you  inside.  Now  you 
humor  her  in  everything,  and  then,  if  poor  Gerard  come- 
not  home  and  claim  her,  you  will  be  sure  to  have  her  — 
in  time.  A  lone  woman  is  aye  to  be  tired  out,  thou 
foolish  boy." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  299 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  CLOISTER. 

Brother  Clement  had  taught  and  preached  in  Basle 
more  than  a  twelvemonth,  when  one  day  Jerome  stood 
before  him,  dusty,  with  a  triumphant  glance  in  his  eye. 

"  Give  the  glory  to  God,  brother  Clement ;  thou  canst 
now  wend  to  England  with  me." 

"I  am  ready,  brother  Jerome;  and,  expecting  thee 
these  many  months,  have  in  the  intervals  of  teaching 
and  devotion  studied  the  English  tongue  somewhat 
closely." 

"  'Twas  well  thought  of,"  said  Jerome.  He  then  told 
him  he  had  but  delayed  till  he  could  obtain  extraordi- 
nary powers  from  the  Pope  to  collect  money  for  the 
Church's  use  in  England,  and  to  hear  confession  in  all 
the  secular  monasteries.  "So  now  gird  up  thy  loins,  and 
let  us  go  forth  and  deal  a  good  blow  for  the  Church,  and 
against  the  Franciscans." 

The  two  friars  went  preaching  down  the  Ehine,  for 
England.  In  the  larger  places,  they  both  preached.  At 
the  smaller,  they  often  divided,  and  took  different  sides 
of  the  river,  and  met  again  at  some  appointed  spot. 
Both  were  able  orators,  but  in  different  styles. 

Jerome's  was  noble  and  impressive,  but  a  little  con- 
tracted in  religious  topics,  and  a  trifle  monotonous  in 
delivery  compared  with  Clement's,  though  in  truth  not 
so,  compared  with  most  preachers. 

Clement's  was  full  of  variety,  and  often  remarkably 
colloquial.    In  its  general  flow,  tender  and  gently  win* 


300 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


ning,  it  curled  round  the  reason  and  the  heart.  But  it 
always  rose  with  the  rising  thought;  and  so  at  times 
Clement  soared  as  far  above  Jerome  as  his  level  speak- 
ing was  below  him.  Indeed,  in  these  noble  heats  he  was 
all  that  we  have  read  of  inspired  prophet  or  heathen 
orator :  Vehemens  ut  procella,  excitatus  ut  torrens,  incen- 
sus  ut  fulmen,  tonabat,  fulgurabat,  et  rapidis  eloquentice 
fluctibus  cuncta  proruebat  et  porturbabat. 

I  would  give  literal  specimens,  but  for  five  objections : 
it  is  difficult ;  time  is  short ;  I  have  done  it  elsewhere ; 
an  able  imitator  has  since  done  it  better ;  and  similarity^ 
a  virtue  in  peas,  is  a  vice  in  books. 

But  (not  to  evade  the  matter  entirely)  Clement  used 
secretly  to  try  and  learn  the  recent  events  and  the  beset- 
ting sin  of  each  town  he  was  to  preach  in. 

But  Jerome,  the  unbending,  scorned  to  go  out  of  his 
way  for  any  people's  vices.  At  one  great  town  some 
leagues  from  the  Ehine,  they  mounted  the  same  pulpit 
in  turn.  Jerome  preached  against  vanity  in  dress,  a 
favorite  theme  of  his.  He  was  eloquent  and  satirical, 
and  the  people  listened  with  complacency.  It  was  a 
vice  that  they  were  little  given  to. 

Clement  preached  against  drunkenness.  It  was  a 
besetting  sin,  and  sacred  from  preaching  in  these  parts: 
for  the  clergy  themselves  were  infected  with  it,  and 
popular  prejudice  protected  it.  Clement  dealt  it  merci- 
less blows  out  of  Holy  Writ  and  worldly  experience.  A 
crime  itself,  it  was  the  nursing-mother  of  most  crimes, 
especially  theft  and  murder.  He  reminded  them  of  a 
parricide  that  had  lately  been  committed  in  their  town 
by  an  honest  man  in  liquor;  and  also  how  a  band  of 
drunkards  had  roasted  one  of  their  own  comrades  alive 
at  a  neighboring  village.  "Your  last  prince,"  said  he, 
"is  reported  to  have  died  of  apoplexy,  but  well  you 
know  he  died  of  drink ;  and  of  your  aldermen,  one  per- 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  301 


ished  miserably  last  month  dead  drunk,  suffocated  in  a 
puddle.  Your  children's  backs  go  bare  that  you  may  fill 
your  bellies  with  that  which  makes  you  the  worst  of 
beasts,  silly  as  calves,  yet  fierce  as  boars ;  and  drives  your 
families  to  need,  and  your  souls  to  hell.  I  tell  ye  your 
town,  ay,  and  your  very  nation  would  sink  to  the  very 
bottom  of  mankind  did  your  women  drink  as  you  do. 
And  how  long  will  they  be  temperate,  and,  contrary  to 
nature,  resist  the  example  of  their  husbands  and  fathers? 
Vice  ne'er  yet  stood  still.  Ye  must  amend  yourselves, 
or  see  them  come  down  to  your  mark.  Already  in 
Bohemia  they  drink  along  with  the  men.  How  shows  a 
drunken  woman  ?  Would  you  love  to  see  your  wives 
drunken,  your  mothers  drunken  ?  "  At  this  there  was 
a  shout  of  horror,  for  mediaeval  audiences  had  not 
learned  to  sit  mumchance  at  a  moving  sermon.  "  Ah, 
that  comes  home  to  you,"  cried  the  friar.  "What! 
madmen !  think  you  it  doth  not  more  shock  the  all-pure 
God  to  see  a  man,  His  noblest  work,  turned  to  a  drunken 
beast,  than  it  can  shock  you  creatures  of  sin  and  un- 
reason to  see  a  woman  turned  into  a  thing  no  better  nor 
worse  than  yourselves  ?  " 

He  ended  with  two  pictures  ;  a  drunkard's  house  and 
family,  and  a  sober  man's ;  both  so  true  and  dramatic  in 
all  their  details,  that  the  wives  fell  all  to  "  ohing  "  and 
"  ahing,"  and  "  Eh,  but  that  is  a  true  word." 

This  discourse  caused  quite  an  uproar.  The  hearers 
formed  knots ;  the  men  were  indignant ;  so  the  women 
flattered  them,  and  took  their  part  openly  against  the 
preacher.  A  married  man  had  a  right  to  a  drop ;  he 
needed  it,  working  for  all  the  family.  And  for  their 
part  they  did  not  care  to  change  their  men  for  milksops. 

The  double  faces  !  That  very  evening  a  band  of  men 
caught  near  a  hundred  of  them  round  brother  Clement, 
filling  his  wallet  with,  the  best,  and  offering  him  the  verv 


302  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


roses  off  their  heads,  and  kissing  his  frock,  and  blessing 
him  "for  taking  in  hand  to  mend  their  sots." 

J erome  thought  this  sermon  too  earthly. 

"Drunkenness  is  not  heresy,  Clement,  that  a  whole 
sermon  should  be  preached  against  it." 

As  they  went  on,  he  found  to  his  surprise  that 
Clement's  sermons  sank  into  his  hearers  deeper  than 
his  own ;  made  them  listen,  think,  cry,  and  sometimes 
even  amend  their  ways.  "  He  hath  the  art  of  sinking  to 
their  peg,"  thought  Jerome.  "  Yet  he  can  soar  high 
enough  at  times." 

Upon  the  whole,  it  puzzled  Jerome,  who  had  a  secret 
sense  of  superiority  to  his  tenderer  brother.  And,  after 
about  two  hundred  miles  of  it,  it  got  to  displease  him  as 
well  as  puzzle  him.  But  he  tried  to  check  this  senti- 
ment as  petty  and  unworthy.  "Souls  differ  like  locks," 
said  he,  "and  preachers  must  differ  like  keys,  or  the 
fewer  should  the  Church  open  for  God  to  pass  in.  And, 
certes,  this  novice  hath  the  key  to  these  Northern  souls, 
being  himself  a  Northern  man." 

And  so  they  came  slowly  down  the  Rhine,  sometimes 
drifting  a  few  miles  on  the  stream ;  but  in  general  walk- 
ing by  the  banks  preaching,  and  teaching,  and  confess- 
ing sinners  in  the  towns  and  villages  ;  and  they  reached 
the  town  of  Dusseldorf. 

There  was  the  little  quay  where  Gerard  and  Denys 
had  taken  boat  up  the  Rhine.  The  friars  landed  on  it. 
There  were  the  streets,  there  was  "  The  Silver  Lion." 
Nothing  had  changed  but  he,  who  walked  through  it 
barefoot,  with  his  heart  calm  and  cold,  his  hands  across 
his  breast,  and  his  eyes  bent  meekly  on  the  ground,  a 
true  son  of  Dominic  and  holy  Church. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  303 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE  HEARTH. 

*  Eli,"  said  Catherine,  "  answer  me  one  question  like 
a  man,  and  I'll  ask  no  more  to-day.  What  is  worm- 
wood ?  " 

Eli  looked  a  little  helpless  at  this  sudden  demand  upon 
his  faculties ;  but  soon  recovered  enough  to  say  it  was 
something  that  tasted  main  bitter. 

"  That  is  a  fair  answer,  my  man,  but  not  the  one  I  look 
for." 

"  Then  answer  it  yourself." 

"And  shall.  Wormwood  is — to  have  two  in  the  house 
a-doing  nought,  but  waiting  for  thy  shoes  and  mine." 
Eli  groaned.    The  shaft  struck  home. 

"  Methinks  waiting  for  their  best  friend's  coffin,  that 
and  nothing  to  do,  are  enow  to  make  them  worse  than 
Nature  meant.  Why  not  set  them  up  somewhere,  to 
give  'em  a  chance  ?  " 

Eli  said  he  was  willing,  but  afraid  they  would  drink 
and  gamble  their  very  shelves  away. 

"Nay,"  said  Catherine.  "Dost  take  me  for  a  simple- 
ton ?  Of  course  I  mean  to  watch  them  at  starting,  and 
drive  them  wi'  a  loose  rein,  as  the  saying  is." 

"  Where  did  you  think  of  ?  Not  here  ;  to  divide  our 
own  custom." 

"Not  likely.  I  say  Rotterdam,  against  the  world. 
Then  I  could  start  them." 

Oh,  self  deception !  The  true  motive  of  all  this  was 
to  get  near  little  Gerard. 


304  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


After  many  discussions,  and  eager  promises  of  amend 
ment  on  these  terms  from  Cornelis  and  Sybrandt,  Cath- 
erine went  to  Rotterdam  shop  hunting,  and  took  Kate 
with  her,  for  a  change.  They  soon  found  one,  and  in  a 
good  street;  but  it  was  sadly  out  of  order.  However 
they  got  it  cheaper  for  that,  and  instantly  set  about 
brushing  it  up,  fitting  proper  shelves  for  the  business, 
and  making  the  dwelling-house  habitable. 

Luke  Peterson  was  always  asking  Margaret  what  he 
could  do  for  her.  The  answer  used  to  be  in  a  sad  tone. 
u Nothing,  Luke,  nothing." 

"What,  you  that  are  so  clever,  can  you  think  of  nothing 
for  me  to  do  for  you  ?  " 

"Nothing,  Luke,  nothing." 

But  at  last  she  varied  the  reply  thus :  "  If  you  could 
make  something  to  help  my  sweet  sister  Kate  about." 

The  slave  of  love  consented  joyfully,  and  soon  made 
Kate  a  little  cart,  and  cushioned  it,  and  }~oked  himself 
into  it,  and  at  eventide  drew  her  out  of  the  town,  and 
along  the  pleasant  boulevard,  with  Margaret  and  Catherine 
walking  beside.    It  looked  a  happier  party  than  it  was. 

Kate,  for  one,  enjoyed  it  keenly,  for  little  Gerard  was 
put  in  her  lap,  and  she  doted  on  him ;  and  it  was  like  a 
cherub  carried  by  a  little  angel,  or  a  rosebud  lying  in  the 
cup  of  a  lily. 

So  the  vulgar  jeered,  and  asked  Luke  how  a  thistle 
tasted,  and  if  his  mistress  could  not  afford  one  with  four 
legs,  etc. 

Luke  did  not  mind  these  jeers ;  but  Kate  minded  them 
for  him. 

"  Thou  hast  made  the  cart  for  me,  good  Luke,"  said 
she.  "  Twas  much.  I  did  ill  to  let  thee  draw  me  too ; 
we  can  afford  to  pay  some  poor  soul  for  that.  I  love  my 
rides,  and  to  carry  little  Gerard;  but  I'd  liever  ride  no 
more  than  thou  be  mocked  fort." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  305 


" Much  I  care  for  their  tongues,"  said  Luke ;  "if  I  did 
care  I'd  knock  their  heads  together.  I  shall  draw  you 
till  my  mistress  says  give  over." 

"  Luke,  if  you  obey  Kate,  you  will  oblige  me." 

"  Then  I  will  obey  Kate." 

An  honorable  exception  to  popular  humor  was  Jorian 
Ketel's  wife.  "  That  is  strength  well  laid  out,  to  draw 
the  weak.  And  her  prayers  will  be  your  guerdon ;  she 
is  not  long  for  this  world :  she  smileth  in  pain."  These 
were  the  words  of  Joan. 

Single-minded  Luke  answered  that  he  did  not  want 
the  poor  lass's  prayers ;  he  did  it  to  please  his  mistress, 
Margaret. 

After  that  Luke  often  pressed  Margaret  to  give  him 
something  to  do  —  without  success. 

But  one  day,  as  if  tired  with  his  importuning,  she 
turned  on  him,  and  said  with  a  look  and  accent,  I  should 
in  vain  try  to  convey  — 

"  Find  me  my  boy's  father ! 99 


306  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

"  Mistress,  they  all  say  he  is  dead." 
"Not  so.    They  feed  me  still  with  hopes." 
"  Ay,  to  your  face,  but  behind  your  back  they  all  say 
he  is  dead." 

At  this  revelation  Margaret's  tears  began  to  flow. 

Luke  whimpered  for  company.  He  had  the  body  of  a 
man,  but  the  heart  of  a  girl. 

"  Prithee,  weep  not  so,  sweet  mistress,"  said  he.  "  I'd 
bring  him  back  to  life,  an  I  could,  rather  than  see  thee 
weep  so  sore." 

Margaret  said  she  thought  she  was  weeping  because 
they  were  so  double-tongued  with  her. 

She  recovered  herself,  and,  laying  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  said  solemnly,  "Luke,  he  is  not  dead.  Dying 
men  are  known  to  have  a  strange  sight.  And  listen, 
Luke !  My  poor  father,  when  he  was  a-dying,  and  I, 
simple  fool,  was  so  happy,  thinking  he  was  going  to  get 
well  altogether,  he  said  to  mother  and  me  —  he  was  sit- 
ting in  that  very  chair  where  you  are  now,  and  mother 
was  as  might  be  here,  and  I  was  yonder  making  a  sleeve 
—  said  he,  'I  see  him!  I  see  him!'  Just  so.  Not  like 
a  failing  man  at  all,  but  all  o'  fire.  'Sore  disfigured  — 
on  a  great  river  —  coming  this  way.' 

"  Ah,  Luke,  if  you  were  a  woman,  and  had  the  feeling 
for  me  you  think  you  have,  you  would  pity  me,  and  find 
him  for  me.    Take  a  thought !    The  father  of  my  child ! " 

"Alack,  I  would  if  I  knew  how,"  said  Luke.  "But 
how  can  I  ?  " 

"Nay,  of  course  you  cannot.    I  am  mad  to  think  it. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  307 


But  oh,  if  any  one  really  cared  for  me  tliey  would  ;  that 
is  all  I  know." 

Luke  reflected  in  silence  for  some  time. 

"  The  old  folk  all  say  dying  men  can  see  more  than 
living  wights.  Let  me  think,  for  my  mind  cannot  gallop 
like  thine.  On  a  great  river !  Well,  the  Maas  is  a  great 
river."    He  pondered  on. 

"  Coming  this  way  ?  Then  if  it  was  the  Maas,  he 
would  have  been  here  by  this  time,  so  'tis  not  the  Maas. 
The  Ehine  is  a  great  river,  greater  than  the  Maas,  and 
very  long.    I  think  it  will  be  the  Ehine." 

"  And  so  do  I,  Luke ;  for  Denys  bade  him  come  down 
the  Rhine.  But  even  if  it  is,  he  may  turn  off  before  he 
comes  anigh  his  birthplace.  He  does  not  pine  for  me 
as  I  for  him,  that  is  clear.  Luke,  do  you  not  think  he 
has  deserted  me  ?  "  She  wanted  him  to  contradict  her ; 
but  he  said,  "  It  looks  very  like  it ;  what  a  fool  he  must 
be!" 

"What  do  we  know?"  objected  Margaret,  imploringly. 

"  Let  me  think  again,"  said  Luke.    "  I  cannot  gallop." 

The  result  of  this  meditation  was  this.  He  knew  a 
station  about  sixty  miles  up  the  Khine,  where  all  the 
public  boats  put  in;  and  he  would  go  to  that  station, 
and  try  and  cut  the  truant  off.  To  be  sure  he  did  not 
even  know  him  by  sight ;  but  as  each  boat  came  in  he 
would  mingle  with  the  passengers,  and  ask  if  one  Gerard 
was  there.  "And,  mistress,  if  you  were  to  give  me  a 
bit  of  a  letter  to  him ;  for,  with  us  being  strangers,  may- 
hap a  won't  believe  a  word  I  say." 

"Good,  kind,  thoughtful  Luke,  I  will  (how  I  have 
undervalued  thee  !).  But  give  me  till  supper-time  to  get 
it  writ."  At  supper  she  put  a  letter  into  his  hand  with 
a  blush ;  it  was  a  long  letter  tied  round  with  silk,  after 
the  fashion  of  the  day,  and  sealed  over  the  knot. 

Luke  weighed  it  in  his  hand,  with  a  shade  of  discon* 


308  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


tent,  and  said  to  her  very  gravely,  "  Say  your  father  was 
not  dreaming,  and  say  I  have  the  luck  to  fall  in  with 
this  man,  and  say  he  should  turn  out  a  better  bit  of  stuff 
than  I  think  him,  and  come  home  to  you  then  and  there 
—  what  is  to  become  o'  me  ?  " 

Margaret  colored  to  her  very  brow.  "0  Luke,  Heaven 
will  reward  thee.  And  I  shall  fall  on  my  knees  and 
bless  thee;  and  I  shall  love  thee  all  my  days,  sweet 
Luke,  as  a  mother  does  her  son.  I  am  so  old  by  thee : 
trouble  ages  the  heart.  Thou  shalt  not  go :  'tis  not  fair 
of  me ;  love  maketh  us  to  be  all  self." 

"  Humph ! "  said  Luke.  "  And  if,"  resumed  he,  in  the 
same  grave  way,  "yon  scapegrace  shall  read  thy  letter, 
and  hear  me  tell  him  how  thou  pinest  for  him,  and  yet, 
being  a  traitor,  or  a  mere  idiot,  will  not  turn  to  thee  — 
what  shall  become  of  me  then  ?  Must  I  die  a  bachelor, 
and  thou  fare  lonely  to  thy  grave,  neither  maid,  wife, 
nor  widow  ?  " 

Margaret  panted  with  fear  and  emotion  at  this  terrible 
piece  of  good  sense,  and  the  plain  question  that  followed 
it.  But  at  last  she  faltered  out,  "  If,  which  our  Lady  be 
merciful  to  me,  and  forbid  —  Oh ! " 

"Well,  mistress?" 

"  If  he  should  read  my  letter,  and  hear  thy  words  — 
and,  sweet  Luke,  be  just  and  tell  him  what  a  lovely  babe 
he  hath,  fatherless,  fatherless.  0  Luke,  can  he  be  so 
cruel  ?  " 

"I  trow  not;  but  if?" 

"  Then  he  will  give  thee  up  my  marriage  lines,  and  I 
shall  be  an  honest  woman,  and  a  wretched  one ;  and  my 
boy  will  not  be  a  bastard ;  and,  of  course,  then  we  could 
both  go  into  any  honest  man's  house  that  would  be 
troubled  with  us ;  and  even  for  thy  goodness  this  day,  I 
will  —  I  will  —  ne'er  be  so  ungrateful  as  go  past  thy  door 
to  another  man's." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  309 


u  Ay,  but  will  you  come  in  at  mine  ?  Answer  me 
that!" 

"  Oh,  ask  me  not !  Some  day,  perhaps,  when  my  wounds 
leave  bleeding.  Alas,  I'll  try.  If  I  don't  fling  myself 
and  my  child  into  the  Maas.  Do  not  go,  Luke !  do  not 
think  of  going.    'Tis  all  madness  from  first  to  last." 

But  Luke  was  as  slow  to  forego  an  idea  as  to  form  one. 

His  reply  showed  how  fast  love  was  making  a  man  of 
him.  u  Well,"  said  he,  "  madness  is  something  any  way ; 
and  I  am  tired  of  doing  nothing  for  thee :  and  I  am  no 
great  talker.  To-morrow,  at  peep  of  day,  I  start.  But, 
hold,  I  have  no  money.  My  mother,  she  takes  care  of 
all  mine ;  and  I  ne'er  see  it  again." 

Then  Margaret  took  out  Catherine's  gold  angel,  which 
had  escaped  so  often,  and  gave  it  to  Luke ;  and  he  set 
out  on  his  mad  errand. 

It  did  not  however  seem  so  mad  to  him  as  to  us.  It 
was  a  superstitious  age ;  and  Luke  acted  on  the  dying 
man's  dream,  or  vision,  or  illusion,  or  whatever  it  was, 
much  as  we  should  act  on  respectable  information. 

But  Catherine  was  downright  angry  when  she  heard 
of  it.  To  send  the  poor  lad  on  such  a  wild-goose  chase ! 
*  But  you  are  like  a  many  more  girls ;  and,  mark  my 
words,  by  the  time  you  have  worn  that  Luke  fairly  out, 
and  made  him  as  sick  of  you  as  a  dog,  you  will  turn  as 
fond  on  him  as  a  cow  on  a  calf,  and  '  Too  late 9  will  be 
the  cry." 

THE  CLOISTER. 

The  two  friars  reached  Holland  from  the  south  just 
twelve  hours  after  Luke  started  up  the  Rhine. 

Thus,  wild-goose  chase  or  not,  the  parties  were  nearing 
each  other,  and  rapidly  too.  For  Jerome,  unable  to 
preach  in  low  Dutch,  now  began  to  push  on  towards  the 
coast,  anxious  to  get  to  England  as  soon  as  possible. 


310  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

And,  having  the  stream  with  them,  the  friars  would  in 
point  of  fact  have  missed  Luke  by  passing  him  in  full 
stream  below  his  station,  but  for  the  incident  which  I  am 
about  to  relate. 

About  twenty  miles  above  the  station  Luke  was  making 
for,  Clement  landed  to  preach  in  a  large  village;  and 
towards  the  end  of  his  sermon  he  noticed  a  gray  nun 
weeping. 

He  spoke  to  her  kindly,  and  asked  her  what  was  her 
grief.  "  Xay,"  said  she,  "  'tis  not  for  myself  flow  these 
tears  ;  'tis  for  my  lost  friend.  Thy  words  reminded  me 
of  what  she  was,  and  what  she  is,  poor  wretch.  But  you 
are  a  Dominican,  and  I  am  a  Franciscan  nun.'" 

"  It  matters  little,  my  sister,  if  we  are  both  Christians, 
and  if  I  can  aid  thee  in  aught." 

The  nun  looked  in  his  face,  and  said,  "  These  are 
strange  words,  but  methinks  they  are  good:  and  thy  lips 
are,  oh,  most  eloquent.    I  will  tell  thee  our  grief.'7 

She  then  let  him  know  that  a  young  nun,  the  darling 
of  the  convent,  and  her  bosom  friend,  had  been  lured 
away  from  her  vows,  and,  after  various  gradations  of  sin, 
was  actually  living  in  a  small  inn  as  chambermaid,  in 
reality  as  a  decoy,  and  was  known  to  be  selling  her  favors 
to  the  wealthier  customers.  She  added,  "Anywhere  else 
we  might  by  kindly  violence  force  her  away  from  per- 
dition. But  this  innkeeper  was  the  servant  of  the  fierce 
baron  on  the  height  there,  and  hath  his  ear  still,  and  he 
would  burn  our  convent  to  the  ground,  were  we  to  take 
her  by  force." 

"  Moreover,  souls  will  not  be  saved  by  brute  force," 
said  Clement. 

While  they  were  talking  J erome  came  up,  and  Clement 
persuaded  him  to  lie  at  the  convent  that  night.  But 
when  in  the  morning  Clement  told  him  he  had  had  a 
long  talk  with  the  abbess,  and  that  she  was  very  sad,  and 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


311 


he  had  promised  her  to  try  and  win  back  her  nun,  Jerome 
objected,  and  said,  "  It  was  not  their  business,  and  was 
a  waste  of  time."  Clement,  however,  was  no  longer  a 
mere  pupil.  He  stood  firm,  and  at  last  they  agreed  that 
J erome  should  go  forward,  and  secure  their  passage  in 
the  next  ship  for  England,  and  Clement  be  allowed  time 
to  make  his  well-meant  but  idle  experiment. 

About  ten  o'clock  that  day,  a  figure  in  a  horseman's 
cloak,  and  great  boots  to  match,  and  a  large  flapping  felt 
hat,  stood  like  a  statue  near  the  auberge,  where  was  the 
apostate  nun,  Mary.  The  friar  thus  disguised  was  at  that 
moment  truly  wretched.  These  ardent  natures  under- 
take wonders ;  but  are  dashed  when  they  come  hand  to 
hand  with  the  sickening  difficulties.  But  then,  as  their 
hearts  are  steel,  though  their  nerves  are  anything  but 
iron,  they  turn  not  back,  but  panting  and  dispirited, 
struggle  on  to  the  last. 

Clement  hesitated  long  at  the  door,  prayed  for  help 
and  wisdom,  and  at  last  entered  the  inn  and  sat  down 
faint  at  heart,  and  with  his  body  in  a  cold  perspiration. 

But  outside  he  was  another  man.  He  called  lustily 
for  a  cup  of  wine  :  it  was  brought  him  by  the  landlord. 
He  paid  for  it  with  money  the  convent  had  supplied 
him  :  and  made  a  show  of  drinking  it. 

"  Landlord,"  said  he,  "  I  hear  there  is  a  fair  chamber- 
maid  in  thine  house." 

"Ay,  stranger,  the  buxomest  in  Holland.  But  she 
gives  not  her  company  to  all  comers;  only  to  good 
customers." 

Friar  Clement  dangled  a  massive  gold  chain  in  the 
landlord's  sight.  He  laughed  and  shouted,  "  Here, 
J anet,  here  is  a  lover  for  thee  would  bind  thee  in  chains 
of  gold  :  and  a  tall  lad  into  the  bargain  I  promise  thee." 

"Then  I  am  in  double  luck,"  said  a  female  voice: 
"  send  him  hither." 


312  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


Clement  rose,  shuddered,  and  passed  into  the  room, 
where  Janet  was  seated  playing  with  a  piece  of  work, 
and  laying  it  down  every  minute,  to  sing  a  mutilated 
fragment  of  a  song.  For,  in  her  mode  of  life,  she  had 
not  the  patience  to  carry  anything  out. 

After  a  few  words  of  greeting,  the  disguised  visitor 
asked  her  if  they  could  not  be  more  private  somewhere. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  she.  And  she  rose  and  smiled, 
and  went  tripping  before  him.  He  followed,  groaning 
inwardly,  and  sore  perplexed. 

"  There,"  said  she.  "  Have  no  fear !  Nobody  ever 
comes  here,  but  such  as  pay  for  the  privilege." 

Clement  looked  round  the  room,  and  prayed  silently 
for  wisdom.  Then  he  went  softly,  and  closed  the  window- 
shutters  carefully. 

"  What  on  earth  is  that  for  ?  "  said  Janet  in  some 
uneasiness. 

"  Sweetheart,"  whispered  the  visitor,  with  a  mysterious 
air,  "  it  is  that  God  may  not  see  us." 

"  Madman,"  said  Janet,  "  think  you  a  wooden  shutter 
can  keep  out  His  eye  ?  " 

"  Nay,  I  know  not.  Perchance  He  has  too  much  on 
hand  to  notice  us.  But  I  would  not  the  saints  and 
angels  should  see  us.    Would  you  ?  " 

"  My  poor  soul,  hope  not  to  escape  their  sight !  The 
only  way  is  not  to  think  of  them ;  for  if  you  do,  it  poisons 
your  cup.  For  two  pins  I'd  run  and  leave  thee.  Art 
pleasant  company  in  sooth." 

"  After  all,  girl,  so  that  men  see  us  not,  what  signify 
God  and  the  saints  seeing  us  ?  Feel  this  chain !  'Tis 
virgin  gold.  I  shall  cut  two  of  these  heavy  links  off  for 
thee." 

"  Ah !  now  thy  discourse  is  to  the  point."  And  she 
handled  the  chain  greedily.  "  Why,  'tis  as  massy  as  the 
chain  round  the  Virgin's  neck  at  the  conv — "  She  did 
not  finish  the  word. 


HELD  HIS  CRUCIFIX  TOWERING  OVER  HER. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


313 


"  Whisht !  whisht !  whisht !  'Tis  it.  And  thou  shalt 
have  thy  share.    But  betray  me  not." 

"  Monster !  "  cried  Janet,  drawing  back  from  him  with 
repugnance,  "  what !  rob  the  blessed  Virgin  of  her  chain, 
and  give  it  to  an 99  — 

"  You  are  none,"  cried  Clement,  exultingly,  "  or  you 
had  not  recked  for  that.  —  Mary  ! " 

"Ah,  ah,  ah!" 

"  Thy  patron  saint,  whose  chain  this  is,  sends  me  to 
greet  thee." 

She  ran  screaming  to  the  window  and  began  to  undo 
the  shutters. 

Her  fingers  trembled,  and  Clement  had  time  to  de- 
barrass  himself  of  his  boots  and  his  hat,  before  the  light 
streamed  in  upon  him.  He  then  let  his  cloak  quietly 
fall,  and  stood  before  her,  a  Dominican  friar,  calm  and 
majestic  as  a  statue,  and  held  his  crucifix  towering  over 
her  with  a  loving,  sad  and  solemn  look,  that  somehow 
relieved  her  of  the  physical  part  of  fear,  but  crushed  her 
with  religious  terror  and  remorse.  She  crouched  and 
cowered  against  the  wall. 

"  Mary,"  said  he,  gently ;  "  one  word !  Are  you 
happy  ?  " 

"  As  happy  as  I  shall  be  in  hell." 

"  And  they  are  not  happy  at  the  convent ;  they  weep 
for  you." 

"  For  me  ?  " 

"  Day  and  night ;  above  all  the  Sister  Ursula." 

"  Poor  Ursula !  "  And  the  strayed  nun  began  to  weep 
herself  at  the  thought  of  her  friend. 

"  The  angels  weep  still  more.  Wilt  not  dry  all  their 
tears  in  earth  and  heaven,  and  save  thyself  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  would  I  could :  but  it  is  too  late." 

"Satan  avaunt,"  cried  the  monk  sternly.  "'Tis  thy 
favorite  temptation;  and  thou,  Mary,  listen  not  to  the 


314 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


enemy  of  man,  belying  God,  and  whispering  despair.  I 
who  come  to  save  thee  have  been  a  far  greater  sinner 
than  thou.  Come,  Mary,  sin,  thou  seest,  is  not  so  sweet 
e'en  in  this  world,  as  holiness ;  and  eternity  is  at  the 
door." 

"  How  can  they  ever  receive  me  again  ? 99 
"'Tis  their  worthiness  thou  doubtest  now.  But  in 
truth  they  pine  for  thee.  'Twas  in  pity  of  their  tears 
that  I,  a  Dominican,  undertook  this  task  ;  and  broke  the 
rule  of  my  order  by  entering  an  inn  ;  and  broke  it  again 
by  donning  these  lay  vestments.  But  all  is  well  done, 
and  quit  for  a  light  penance,  if  thou  wilt  let  us  rescue 
thy  soul  from  this  den  of  wolves,  and  bring  thee  back  to 
thy  vows." 

The  nun  gazed  at  him  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  And 
thou  a  Dominican  hast  done  this  for  a  daughter  of  St. 
Francis !  Why,  the  Franciscans  and  Dominicans  hate 
one  another." 

"  Ay,  my  daughter ;  but  Francis  and  Dominic  love 
one  another." 

The  recreant  nun  seemed  struck  and  affected  by  this 
answer. 

Clement  now  reminded  her  how  shocked  she  had  been 
that  the  Virgin  should  be  robbed  of  her  chain.  "  But 
see  now,"  said  he,  "  the  convent  and  the  Virgin  too  think 
ten  times  more  of  their  poor  nun  than  of  golden  chains  ; 
for  they  freely  trusted  their  chain  to  me  a  stranger,  that 
peraclventure  the  sight  of  it  might  touch  their  lost  Mary 
and  remind  her  of  their  love."  Finally  he  showed  her 
with  such  terrible  simplicity  the  end  of  her  present 
course,  and  on  the  other  hand  so  revived  her  dormant 
memories  and  better  feelings,  that  she  kneeled  sobbing 
at  his  feet,  and  owned  she  had  never  known  happiness 
nor  peace  since  she  betrayed  her  vows  ;  and  said  she 
would  go  back  if  he  would  go  with  her;  but  alone 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  315 


she  dared  not,  could  not :  even  if  she  reached  the  gate 
she  could  never  enter.  How  could  she  face  the  abbess 
and  the  sisters  ?  He  told  her  he  would  go  with  her  as 
joyfully  as  the  shepherd  bears  a  strayed  lamb  to  the  fold. 

But  when  he  urged  her  to  go  at  once,  up  sprung  a  crop 
of  those  prodigiously  petty  difficulties  that  entangle  her 
sex,  like  silken  nets,  liker  iron  cobwebs. 

He  quietly  swept  them  aside. 

"  But  how  can  I  walk  beside  thee  in  this  habit  ?  " 

"  I  have  brought  the  gown  and  cowl  of  thy  holy  order. 
Hide  thy  bravery  with  them.  And  leave  thy  shoes  as  I 
leave  these  "  (pointing  to  his  horseman's  boots). 

She  collected  her  jewels  and  ornaments. 

"What  are  these  for  ?  "  inquired  Clement. 

"  To  present  to  the  convent,  father." 

"Their  source  is  too  impure." 

"  But,"  objected  the  penitent,  "  it  would  be  a  sin  to 
leave  them  here.    They  can  be  sold  to  feed  the  poor." 

"  Mary,  fix  thine  eye  on  this  crucifix,  and  trample  those 
devilish  baubles  beneath  thy  feet." 

She  hesitated ;  but  soon  threw  them  down  and  trampled 
on  them. 

"Now  open  the  window  and  fling  them  out  on  that 
dung-hill.  'Tis  well  done.  So  pass  the  wages  of  sin 
from  thy  hands,  its  glittering  yoke  from  thy  neck,  its 
pollution  from  thy  soul.  Away,  daughter  of  St.  Francis, 
we  tarry  in  this  vile  place  too  long."    She  followed  him. 

But  they  were  not  clear  yet. 

At  first  the  landlord  was  so  astounded  at  seeing  a 
black  friar  and  a  gray  nun  pass  through  his  kitchen  from 
the  inside,  that  he  gaped,  and  muttered,  "Why,  what 
mummery  is  this  ? "  But  he  soon  comprehended  the 
matter,  and  whipped  in  between  the  fugitives  and  the 
door.  "  What,  ho  !  Keuben  !  Carl !  Gavin !  here  is  a 
false  friar  spiriting  away  our  Janet." 


316  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

The  men  came  running  in  with  threatening  looks. 
The  friar  rushed  at  them  crucifix  in  hand.  "  Forbear," 
he  cried,  in  a  stentorian  voice.  "  She  is  a  holy  nun  re- 
turning to  her  vows.  The  hand  that  touches  her  cowl, 
or  her  robe,  to  stay  her,  it  shall  wither,  his  body  shall 
lie  unburied,  cursed  by  Eome,  and  his  soul  shall  roast  in 
eternal  tire."  They  shrank  back  as  if  a  flame  had  met 
them.    "  And  thou  —  miserable  panderer  ! "  — 

He  did  not  end  the  sentence  in  words,  but  seized  the 
man  by  the  neck,  and,  strong  as  a  lion  in  his  moments 
of  hot  excitement,  whirled  him  furiously  from  the  door 
and  sent  him  all  across  the  room,  pitching  headforemost 
on  to  the  stone  floor ;  then  tore  the  door  open  and  carried 
the  screaming  nun  out  into  the  road.  "  Hush  !  poor 
trembler,"  he  gasped  ;  "  they  dare  not  molest  thee  on  the 
high  road.    Away  !  " 

The  landlord  lay  terrified,  half  stunned,  and  bleeding : 
and  Mary,  though  she  often  looked  back  apprehensively, 
saw  no  more  of  him. 

On  the  road  he  bade  her  observe  his  impetuosity. 

"  Hitherto,"  said  he,  "  we  have  spoken  of  thy  faults  : 
now  for  mine.  My  choler  is  ungovernable  ;  furious.  It 
is  by  the  grace  of  God  I  am  not  a  murderer.  I  repent 
the  next  moment ;  but  a  moment  too  late  is  all  too  late. 
Mary,  had  the  churls  laid  finger  on  thee,  I  should  have 
scattered  their  brains  with  my  crucifix.  Oh,  I  know 
myself ;  go  to  ;  and  tremble  at  myself.  There  lurketh  a 
wild  beast  beneath  this  black  gown  of  mine." 

"  Alas,  father,"  said  Mary,  "  were  you  other  than  you 
are,  I  had  been  lost.  To  take  me  from  that  place  needed 
a  man  wary  as  a  fox  ;  yet  bold  as  a  lion." 

Clement  reflected.  "  Thus  much  is  certain :  God 
chooseth  well  his  fleshly  instruments :  and  with  im- 
perfect hearts  doeth  His  perfect  work.  Glory  be  to 
God!" 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  317 


When  they  were  near  the  convent  Mary  suddenly 
stopped,  and  seized  the  friar's  arm,  and  began  to  cry. 
He  looked  at  her  kindly,  and  told  her  she  had  nothing 
to  fear.  It  would  be  the  happiest  day  she  had  ever 
spent.  He  then  made  her  sit  down  and  compose  herself 
till  he  should  return.  He  entered  the  convent  and  de- 
sired to  see  the  abbess. 

"My  sister,  give  the  glory  to  God.  Mary  is  at  the 
gate." 

The  astonishment  and  delight  of  the  abbess  were  un- 
bounded. She  yielded  at  once  to  Clement's  earnest 
request  that  the  road  of  penitence  might  be  smoothed  at 
first  to  this  unstable  wanderer,  and,  after  some  opposi- 
tion, she  entered  heartily  into  his  views  as  to  her  actual 
reception.  To  give  time  for  their  little  preparations 
Clement  went  slowly  back,  and  seating  himself  by  Mary 
soothed  her :  and  heard  her  confession. 

"  The  abbess  has  granted  me  that  you  shall  propose 
your  own  penance." 

"  It  shall  be  none  the  lighter,"  said  she. 

"  I  trow  not,"  said  he  :  "  but  that  is  future  :  to-day  is 
given  to  joy  alone." 

He  then  led  her  round  the  building  to  the  abbess's 
postern.  As  they  went  they  heard  musical  instruments 
and  singing. 

"'Tis  a  feast-day,"  said  Mary:  "and  I  come  to  mar 
it." 

"  Hardly,"  said  Clement  smiling  ;  "  seeing  that  you  are 
the  queen  of  the  fete." 

"  I,  father  ?  what  mean  you  ?  " 

"  What,  Mary,  have  you  never  heard  that  there  is  more 
joy  in  heaven  over  one  sinner  that  repenteth,  than  over 
ninety-nine  just  persons  which  need  no  repentance  ? 
Now  this  convent  is  not  heaven ;  nor  the  nuns  angels : 
yet  are  there  among  them  some  angelic  spirits  j  and 


318  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

these  sing  and  exult  at  thy  return.  And  here  methinks 
comes  one  of  them ;  for  I  see  her  hand  trembles  at  the 
keyhole." 

The  postern  was  flung  open,  and  in  a  moment  Sister 
Ursula  clung  sobbing  and  kissing  round  her  friend's  neck. 
The  abbess  followed  more  sedately,  but  little  less  moved. 

Clement  bade  them  farewell.  They  entreated  him  to 
stay :  but  he  told  them  with  much  regret  he  could  not. 
He  had  already  tried  his  good  brother  Jerome's  patience, 
and  must  hasten  to  the  river :  and  perhaps  sail  for  Eng- 
land to-morrow. 

So  Mary  returned  to  the  fold,  and  Clement  strode 
briskly  on  towards  the  Rhine  and  England. 

This  was  the  man  for  whom  Margaret's  boy  lay  in 
wait  with  her  letter. 

THE  HEARTH. 

And  that  letter  was  one  of  those  simple,  touching 
appeals  only  her  sex  can  write  to  those  who  have  used 
them  cruelly,  and  they  love  them.  She  began  by  telling 
him  of  the  birth  of  the  little  boy,  and  the  comfort  he 
had  been  to  her  in  all  the  distress  of  mind  his  long  and 
strange  silence  had  caused  her.  She  described  the  little 
Gerard  minutely,  not  forgetting  the  mole  on  his  little 
finger.  "  Know  you  any  one  that  hath  the  like  on  his  ? 
If  you  only  saw  him  you  could  not  choose  but  be  proud 
of  him ;  all  the  mothers  in  the  street  do  envy  me ;  but  I 
the  wives  ;  for  thou  comest  not  to  us.  My  own  Gerard, 
some  say  thou  art  dead.  But  if  thou  wert  dead  how 
could  I  be  alive  ?  Others  say  that  thou,  whom  I  love 
so  truly,  art  false.  But  this  will  I  believe  from  no  lips 
but  thine.  My  father  loved  thee  well;  and  as  he  lay 
a-dying  he  thought  he  saw  thee  on  a  great  river,  with 
thy  face  turned  towards  thy  Margaret,  but  sore  disfig- 
ured.   Is't  so,  perchance  ?    Have  cruel  men  scarred  thy 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


319 


sweet  face  ?  or  hast  thou  lost  one  of  thy  precious  limbs  ? 
Why,  then  thou  hast  the  more  need  of  me,  and  I  shall 
love  thee  not  worse,  alas  !  thinkest  thou  a  woman's  love 
is  light  as  a  man's  ?  but  better,  than  I  did  when  I  shed 
those  few  drops  from  my  arm,  not  worth  the  tears  thou 
didst  shed  for  them ;  mindest  thou  ?  'tis  not  so  very 
long  agone,  dear  Gerard." 

The  letter  continued  in  this  strain,  and  concluded 
without  a  word  of  reproach  or  doubt  as  to  his  faith  and 
affection.  Not  that  she  was  free  from  most  distressing 
doubts :  but  they  were  not  certainties ;  and  to  show 
them  might  turn  the  scale,  and  frighten  him  away  from 
her  with  fear  of  being  scolded.  And  of  this  letter  she 
made  soft  Luke  the  bearer. 

So  she  was  not  an  angel  after  all. 

Luke  mingled  with  the  passengers  of  two  boats,  and 
could  hear  nothing  of  Gerard  Eliassoen.  Nor  did  this 
surprise  him.  He  was  more  surprised  when,  at  the  third 
attempt,  a  black  friar  said  to  him,  somewhat  severely, 
"  And  what  would  you  with  him  you  call  Gerard  Elias- 
soen ?  " 

"Why,  father,  if  he  is  alive,  I  have  got  a  letter  for 
him." 

"  Humph  ! "  said  Jerome.  "  I  am  sorry  for  it.  How- 
ever, the  flesh  is  weak.  Well,  my  son,  he  you  seek  will 
be  here  by  the  next  boat,  or  the  next  boat  after.  And  if 
he  chooses  to  answer  to  that  name  —  After  all,  I  am 
not  the  keeper  of  his  conscience." 

"  Good  father,  one  plain  word,  for  heaven's  sake.  This 
Gerard  Eliassoen  of  Tergou  —  is  he  alive  ?  " 

"  Humph  !  Why,  certes,  he  that  went  by  that  name  is 
alive." 

"  Well,  then,  that  is  settled,"  said  Luke,  dryly.  But 
the  next  moment  he  found  it  necessary  to  run  out  of 
sight  and  blubber. 


320  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

"Oh,  why  did  the  Lord  make  any  women?"  said  he 
to  himself.  "  I  was  content  with  the  world  till  I  fell  in 
love.  Here  his  little  finger  is  more  to  her  than  my 
whole  body,  and  he  is  not  dead.  And  here  I  have  got  to 
give  him  this."  He  looked  at  the  letter  and  dashed  it 
on  the  ground.  But  he  picked  it  up  again  with  a  spite- 
ful snatch,  and  went  to  the  landlord,  with  tears  in  his 
eyes,  and  begged  for  work.  The  landlord  declined,  said 
he  had  his  own  people. 

"Oh,  I  seek  not  your  money,"  said  Luke.  "I  only 
want  some  work  to  keep  me  from  breaking  my  heart 
about  another  man's  lass." 

"  Good  lad !  good  lad  ! "  exploded  the  landlord ;  and 
found  him  lots  of  barrels  to  mend  —  on  these  terms. 
And  he  coopered  with  fury  in  the  interval  of  the  boats 
coming  down  the  Rhine. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  321 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE  HEARTH. 

Writing  an  earnest  letter  seldom  leaves  the  mind  in 
statu  quo.  Margaret,  in  hers,  vented  her  energy  and  her 
faith  in  her  dying  father's  vision,  or  illusion ;  and,  when 
this  was  done,  and  Luke  gone,  she  wondered  at  her  cre- 
dulity, and  her  conscience  pricked  her  about  Luke  ;  and 
Catherine  came  and  scolded  her,  and  she  paid  the  price 
of  false  hopes,  and  elevation  of  spirits,  by  falling  into 
deeper  despondency.  She  was  found  in  this  state  by  a 
stanch  friend  she  had  lately  made ;  Joan  Ketel.  This 
good  woman  came  in  radiant  with  an  idea. 

"  Margaret,  I  know  the  cure  for  thine  ill :  the  hermit 
of  Gouda,  a  wondrous  holy  man.  Why,  he  can  tell  what 
is  coming,  when  he  is  in  the  mood." 

"  Ay,  I  have  heard  of  him,"  said  Margaret,  hopelessly. 
Joan  with  some  difficulty  persuaded  her  to  walk  out  as 
far  as  Gouda,  and  consult  the  hermit.  They  took  some 
butter  and  eggs  in  a  basket,  and  went  to  his  cave. 

What  had  made  the  pair  such  fast  friends  ?  Jorian 
some  six  weeks  ago  fell  ill  of  a  bowel  disease ;  it  began 
with  raging  pain :  and  when  this  went  off,  leaving  him 
weak,  an  awkward  symptom  succeeded ;  nothing,  either 
liquid  or  solid,  would  stay  in  his  stomach  a  minute.  The 
doctor  said,  "  He  must  die  if  this  goes  on  many  hours ; 
therefore,  boil  thou  now  a  chicken  with  a  golden  angel 
in  the  water,  and  let  him  sup  that."  Alas !  Gilt  chicken 
broth  shared  the  fate  of  the  humbler  viands,  its  prede- 
cessors.   Then  the  cure  steeped  the  thumb  of  St.  Sergius 


322 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


in  beef  broth.  Same  result.  Then  Joan  ran  weeping  to 
Margaret  to  borrow  some  linen  to  make  his  shroud. 
"Let  me  see  him/'  said  Margaret.  She  came  in  and 
felt  his  pulse.  "Ah!"  said  she,  "I  doubt  they  have 
not  gone  to  the  root.  Open  the  window !  Art  stifling 
him  ;  now  change  all  his  linen." 

"  Alack,  woman,  what  for  ?  TVhy  foul  more  linen  for 
a  dying  man  ?  "  objected  the  mediaeval  wife. 

"  Do  as  thou  art  bid,"  said  Margaret,  dully,  and  left 
the  room. 

Joan  somehow  found  herself  doing  as  she  was  bid. 
Margaret  returned  with  her  apron  full  of  a  flowering 
herb.  She  made  a  decoction,  and  took  it  to  the  bedside ; 
and  before  giving  it  to  the  patient,  took  a  spoonful  her- 
self, and  smacked  her  lips  hypocritically.  "That  is 
fair,"  said  he  with  a  feeble  attempt  at  humor.  "  Why, 
'tis  sweet,  and  now  'tis  bitter."  She  engaged  him  in 
conversation  as  soon  as  he  had  taken  it.  This  bitter- 
sweet stayed  by  him.  Seeing  which  she  built  on  it  as 
cards  are  built:  mixed  a  very  little  schiedam  in  the 
third  spoonful,  and  a  little  beaten  yolk  of  egg  in  the 
seventh.  And  so  with  the  patience  of  her  sex  she  coaxed 
his  body  out  of  Death's  grasp ;  and  finally,  Nature,  being- 
patted  on  the  back,  instead  of  kicked  under  the  bed,  set 
Jorian  Ketel  on  his  legs  again.  But  the  doctress  made 
them  both  swear  never  to  tell  a  soul  her  guilty  deed. 
"  They  would  put  me  in  prison,  away  from  my  child." 

The  simple  that  saved  Jorian  was  called  sweet  fever- 
few. She  gathered  it  in  his  own  garden.  Her  eagle  eye 
had  seen  it  growing  out  of  the  window. 

Margaret  and  Joan,  then,  reached  the  hermit's  cave, 
and  placed  their  present  on  the  little  platform.  Marga- 
ret then  applied  her  mouth  to  the  aperture,  made  for 
that  purpose,  and  said,  "Holy  hermit,  we  bring  thee 
butter  and  eggs  of  the  best :  and  I,  a  poor  deserted  girl, 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  323 


wife,  yet  no  wife,  and  mother  of  the  sweetest  babe,  come 
to  pray  thee  tell  me  whether  he  is  quick  or  dead,  true  to 
his  vows  or  false." 

A  faint  voice  issued  from  the  cave :  "  Trouble  me  not 
with  the  things  of  earth,  but  send  me  a  holy  friar.  I 
am  dying." 

"  Alas  ! "  cried  Margaret.  "  Is  it  e'en  so,  poor  soul  ? 
Then  let  us  in  to  help  thee." 

"  Saints  forbid  !  Thine  is  a  woman's  voice.  Send  me 
a  holy  friar  ! " 

They  went  back  as  they  came.  Joan  could  not  help 
saying,  "Are  women  imps  o'  darkness,  then,  that  they 
must  not  come  anigh  a  dying  bed  ?  " 

But  Margaret  was  too  deeply  dejected  to  say  anything. 
Joan  applied  rough  consolation.  But  she  was  not  lis- 
tened to  till  she  said,  "  And  J orian  will  speak  out  ere 
long;  he  is  just  on  the  boil.  He  is  very  grateful  to  thee, 
believe  it." 

"  Seeing  is  believing,"  replied  Margaret  with  quiet 
bitterness. 

"Not  but  what  he  thinks  you  might  have  saved  him 
with  something  more  out  o'  the  common  than  yon.  '  A 
man  of  my  inches  to  be  cured  wi'  feverfew/  says  he. 
( Why,  if  there  is  a  sorry  herb/  says  he.  ( Why,  I  was 
thinking  o'  pulling  all  mine  up/  says  he.  I  up  and  told 
him  remedies  were  none  the  better  for  being  far-fetched  ; 
you  and  feverfew  cured  him,  when  the  grand  medicines 
came  up  faster  than  they  went  down.  So  says  I,  '  You 
may  go  down  on  your  four  bones  to  feverfew.'  But,  in- 
deed, he  is  grateful  at  bottom ;  you  are  all  his  thought 
and  all  his  chat.  But  he  sees  Gerard's  folk  coming 
around  ye,  and  good  friends,  and  he  said  only  last 
night "  — 

"Well?" 

"  He  made  me  vow  not  to  tell  ye." 


324 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  Prithee,  tell  me." 

"Well,  he  said,  1  An'  if  I  tell  what  little  I  know,  it 
won't  bring  him  back,  and  it  will  set  them  all  by  the 
ears.  I  wish  I  had  more  headpiece,'  said  he,  '  I  am  sore 
perplexed.  But  least  said  is  soonest  mended.'  Yon  is 
his  favorite  word ;  he  comes  back  to't  from  a  mile  off." 

Margaret  shook  her  head.  "Ay,  we  are  wading  in 
deep  waters,  my  poor  babe  and  me." 

It  was  Saturday  night :  and  no  Luke. 

"  Poor  Luke  !  "  said  Margaret.  "  It  was  very  good  of 
him  to  go  on  such  an  errand." 

"He  is  one  out  of  a  hundred,"  replied  Catherine 
warmly. 

"Mother,  do  you  think  he  would  be  kind  to  little 
Gerard  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  he  would.    So  do  you  be  kinder  to  him 
when  he  comes  back  !    Will  ye  now  ?  " 
"  Ay." 

THE  CLOISTER. 

Brother  Clement,  directed  by  the  nuns,  avoided  a  bend 
in  the  river,  and,  striding  lustily  forward,  reached  a  sta- 
tion some  miles  nearer  the  coast  than  that  where  Luke 
lay  in  wait  for  Gerard  Eliassoen.  And  the  next  morning 
he  started  early,  and  was  in  Rotterdam  at  noon.  He 
made  at  once  for  the  port,  not  to  keep  Jerome  waiting. 

He  observed  several  monks  of  his  order  on  the  quay ; 
he  went  to  them ;  but  Jerome  was  not  amongst  them. 
He  asked  one  of  them  whether  Jerome  had  arrived  ? 
"  Surely,  brother,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Prithee,  where  is  he  ?  " 

"  Where  ?  Why,  there  ! "  said  the  monk,  pointing  to 
a  ship  in  full  sail.  And  Clement  now  noticed  that  all 
the  monks  were  looking  seaward. 

"  What,  gone  without  me  !    Oh,  Jerome !  Jerome ! " 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  325 


cried  he  in  a  voice  of  anguish.  Several  of  the  friars 
turned  round  and  stared. 

"  You  must  be  brother  Clement,"  said  one  of  them  at 
length;  and  on  this  they  kissed  him  and  greeted  him 
with  brotherly  warmth,  and  gave  him  a  letter  Jerome 
had  charged  them  with  for  him.  It  was  a  hasty  scrawl. 
The  writer  told  him  coldly  a  ship  was  about  to  sail  for 
England,  and  he  was  loath  to  lose  time.  He  (Clement) 
might  follow  if  he  pleased,  but  he  would  do  much  better 
to  stay  behind,  and  preach  to  his  own  country  folk. 
"  Give  the  glory  to  God,  brother ;  you  have  a  wonderful 
power  over  Dutch  hearts  :  but  you  are  no  match  for 
those  haughty  islanders  :  you  are  too  tender. 

u  Know  thou  that  on  the  way  I  met  one  who  asked  me 
for  thee  under  the  name  thou  didst  bear  in  the  world. 
Be  on  thy  guard !  Let  not  the  world  catch  thee  again 
by  any  silken  net.  And  remember,  solitude,  fasting,  and 
prayer  are  the  sword,  spear,  and  shield  of  the  soul. 
Farewell." 

Clement  was  deeply  shocked  and  mortified  at  this  con- 
temptuous desertion,  and  this  cold-blooded  missive. 

He  promised  the  good  monks  to  sleep  at  the  convent, 
and  to  preach  wherever  the  prior  should  appoint  (for 
Jerome  had  raised  him  to  the  skies  as  a  preacher),  and 
then  withdrew  abruptly,  for  he  was  cut  to  the  quick,  and 
wanted  to  be  alone.  He  asked  himself,  was  there  some 
incurable  fault  in  him,  repulsive  to  so  true  a  son  of  Domi- 
nic ?  Or  was  J erome  himself  devoid  of  that  Christian 
love  which  St.  Paul  had  placed  above  faith  itself  ?  Ship- 
wrecked with  him,  and  saved  on  the  same  fragment  of 
the  wreck ;  his  pupil,  his  penitent,  his  son  in  the  Church, 
and  now  for  four  hundred  miles  his  fellow-traveller  in 
Christ ;  and  to  be  shaken  off  like  dirt,  the  first  oppor- 
tunity, with  harsh  and  cold  disdain.  "Why,  worldly 
hearts  are  no  colder  nor  less  trusty  than  this,"  said  he. 


326  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  The  only  one  that  ever  really  loved  me  lies  in  a  grave 
hard  by.  Fly  me,  fly  to  England,  man  born  without  a 
heart ;  I  will  go  and  pray  over  a  grave  at  Sevenbergen." 

Three  hours  later  he  passed  Peter's  cottage.  A  troop 
of  noisy  children  were  playing  about  the  door,  and  the 
house  had  been  repaired,  and  a  new  outhouse  added. 
He  turned  his  head  hastily  away,  not  to  disturb  a  picture 
his  memory  treasured,  and  went  to  the  churchyard. 

He  sought  among  the  tombstones  for  Margaret's.  He 
could  not  find  it.  He  could  not  believe  they  had  grudged 
her  a  tombstone,  so  searched  the  churchyard  all  over 
again. 

"  Oh,  poverty !  stern  poverty !  Poor  soul,  thou  wert 
like  me ;  no  one  was  left  that  loved  thee,  when  Gerard 
was  gone." 

He  went  into  the  church,  and,  after  kissing  the  steps, 
prayed  long  and  earnestly  for  the  soul  of  her  whose 
resting-place  he  could  not  find. 

Coming  out  of  the  church  he  saw  a  very  old  man 
looking  over  the  little  churchyard  gate.  He  went 
towards  him,  and  asked  him  did  he  live  in  the  place. 

"Fourscore  and  twelve  years,  man  and  boy.  And  I 
come  here  every  day  of  late,  holy  father,  to  take  a  peep. 
This  is  where  I  look  to  bide  ere  long." 

"  My  son,  can  you  tell  me  where  Margaret  lies  ?  " 

"  Margaret  ?    There's  a  many  Margarets  here." 

"Margaret  Brandt.  She  was  daughter  to  a  learned 
physician." 

"  As  if  I  didn't  know  that,"  said  the  old  man,  pet- 
tishly. "  But  she  doesn't  lie  here.  Bless  you,  they  left 
this  a  longful  while  ago.  Gone  in  a  moment,  and  the 
house  empty.  What,  is  she  dead  ?  Margaret  a  Peter 
dead?  Kow  only  think  on't.  Like  enow;  like  enow. 
They  great  towns  do  terribly  disagree  wi'  country  folk." 

"  What  great  towns,  my  son  ?  " 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  327 

"  Well,  'twas  Eotterdain  they  went  to  from  here,  so  I 
heard  tell ;  or  was  it  Amsterdam  ?  Nay,  I  trow  'twas 
Eotterdam.    And  gone  there  to  die  ! " 

Clement  sighed. 

"  'Twas  not  in  her  face  now,  that  I  saw.  And  I  can 
mostly  tell.  Alack,  there  was  a  blooming  young  flower 
to  be  cut  off  so  soon,  and  an  old  weed  like  me  left  stand- 
ing still.  Well,  well,  she  was  a  May  rose,  yon;  dear 
heart,  what  a  winsome  smile  she  had,  and  "  — 

"  God  bless  thee,  my  son,"  said  Clement ;  "  farewell ! " 
and  he  hurried  away. 

He  reached  the  convent  at  sunset,  and  watched  and 
prayed  in  the  chapel  for  Jerome  and  Margaret,  till  it 
was  long  past  midnight,  and  his  soul  had  recovered  its 
cold  calm. 


328  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE  HEARTH. 

The  next  day,  Sunday,  after  mass,  was  a  bustling  day 
at  Catherine's  house  in  the  Hoog  Straet.  The  shop  was 
now  quite  ready,  and  Cornelis  and  Sybrandt  were  to 
open  it  next  day ;  their  names  were  above  the  door ;  also 
their  sign,  a  white  lamb  sucking  a  gilt  sheep.  Eli  had 
come,  and  brought  them  some  more  goods  from  his  store 
to  give  them  a  good  start.  The  hearts  of  the  parents 
glowed  at  what  they  were  doing,  and  the  pair  themselves 
walked  in  the  garden  together,  and  agreed  they  were 
sick  of  their  old  life,  and  it  was  more  pleasant  to  make 
money  than  waste  it :  they  vowed  to  stick  to  business 
like  wax.  Their  mother's  quick  and  ever  watchful  ear 
overheard  this  resolution  through  an  open  window,  and 
she  told  Eli.  The  family  supper  was  to  include  Mar- 
garet and  her  boy,  and  be  a  kind  of  inaugural  feast,  at 
which  good  trade  advice  was  to  flow  from  the  elders,  and 
good  wine  to  be  drunk  to  the  success  of  the  converts  to 
commerce  from  agriculture  in  its  unremunerative  form, 
—  wild  oats.  So  Margaret  had  come  over  to  help  her 
mother-in-law,  and  also  to  shake  off  her  own  deep  lan- 
guor; and  both  their  faces  were  as  red  as  the  fire. 
Presently  in  came  Joan  with  a  salad  from  Jorian's 
garden. 

"  He  cut  it  for  you,  Margaret ;  you  are  all  his  chat ;  I 
shall  be  jealous.  I  told  him  you  were  to  feast  to-day. 
But  oh,  lass,  what  a  sermon  in  the  new  kerk !  Preach- 
ing ?    I  never  heard  it  till  this  day." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  329 


"  Would  I  had  been  there  then/'  said  Margaret ;  "  for 
I  am  dried  up  for  want  of  dew  from  heaven." 

"  Why,  he  preacheth  again  this  afternoon.  But  may- 
hap you  are  wanted  here." 

"Not  she,"  said  Catherine.  "Come,  away  ye  go,  if 
y'are  minded." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Margaret,  "  methinks  I  should  not  be 
such  a  damper  at  table  if  I  could  come  to 't  warm  from 
a  good  sermon." 

"Then  you  must  be  brisk,"  observed  Joan.  "  See,  the 
folk  are  wending  that  way,  and  as  I  live,  there  goes  the 
holy  friar.  Oh,  bless  us  and  save  us,  Margaret :  the  her- 
mit !  We  forgot."  And  this  active  woman  bounded  out 
of  the  house,  and  ran  across  the  road,  and  stopped  the 
friar.  She  returned  as  quickly.  "  There,  I  was  bent  on 
seeing  him  nigh  hand." 

"What  said  he  to  thee?" 

"  Says  he,  '  My  daughter,  I  will  go  to  him  ere  sunset, 
God  willing.'  The  sweetest  voice.  But,  oh,  my  mis- 
tresses, what  thin  cheeks  for  a  young  man,  and  great 
eyes,  not  far  from  your  color,  Margaret." 

"  I  have  a  great  mind  to  go  hear  him,"  said  Margaret. 
"  But  my  cap  is  not  very  clean,  and  they  will  all  be  there 
in  their  snow-white  mutches." 

"There,  take  my  handkerchief  out  of  the  basket," 
said  Catherine  ;  "  you  cannot  have  the  child,  I  want  him 
for  my  poor  Kate.    It  is  one  of  her  ill  days." 

Margaret  replied  by  taking  the  boy  up-stairs.  She 
found  Kate  in  bed. 

"How  art  thou,  sweetheart?  Nay,  I  need  not  ask. 
Thou  art  in  sore  pain;  thou  smilest  so.  See,  I  have 
brought  thee  one  thou  lovest." 

"Two,  by  my  way  of  counting,"  said  Kate,  with  an 
angelic  smile.  She  had  a  spasm  at  that  moment  would 
have  made  some  of  us  roar  like  bulls. 


330 


THE  CLOISTEE  AND  THE  HEAETH. 


••  What,  in  tout  lap  ?  "  said  Margaret,  answering  a 
gesture  of  the  suffering  girl.  "Xay,  he  is  too  heavy, 
and  thou  in  such  pain." 

••I  love  him  too  dear  to  feel  his  weight,"  was  the 
reply. 

Margaret  took  this  opportunity,  and  made  her  toilet. 
"I  am  for  the  kerk,"  said  she,  "to  hear  a  beautiful 
preacher."  Kate  sighed.  "  And  a  minute  ago,  Kate,  I 
was  all  agog  to  go :  that  is  the  way  with  me  this  month 
past :  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  like  the  waves  of  the 
Zuyder  Zee.  I'd  as  iieve  stay  aside  thee;  say  the 
word ! 99 

••ZSay."  said  Kate,  "prithee  go;  and  bring  me  back 
every  word.  Well-a-day  that  I  cannot  go  myself."  And 
the  tears  stood  in  the  patient's  eyes.  This  decided 
Margaret,  and  she  kissed  Kate,  looked  under  her  lashes 
at  the  boy,  and  heaved  a  little  sigh. 

I  trow  I  must  not,"  said  she.  - 1  never  could  kiss 
him  a  little ;  and  my  father  was  dead  against  waking  a 
child  by  day  or  night.  When  'tis  thy  pleasure  to  wake, 
speak  thy  aunt  Kate  the  two  new  words  thou  hast 
gotten."  And  she  went  out,  looking  lovingly  over  her 
shoulder,  and  shut  the  door  inaudibly. 

•■•Joan,  you  will  lend  me  a  hand,  and  peel  these?" 
said  Catherine. 

•'That  I  wilL  dame/'  And  the  cooking  proceeded 
with  silent  vigor. 

••Xow.  Joan,  them  which  help  me  cook  and  serve  the 
meat,  they  help  me  eat  it :  that's  a  rule." 

•'•  There's  worse  laws  in  Holland  than  that.  Your  will 
is  my  pleasure,  mistress;  for  my  Luke  hath  got  his 
supper  i*  the  air.  He  is  digging  to-day.  by  good  luck." 
(Margaret  came  down.) 

••  Eh.  woman,  yon  is  an  ugly  trade.  There,  she  has 
just  washed  her  face  and  gi'en  her  hair  a  turn,  and  now 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  331 

who  is  like  her  ?  Rotterdam,  that  for  you ! "  and  Cathe- 
rine snapped  her  fingers  at  the  capital.  "  Give  us  a  buss, 
hussy  !  Now  mind,  Eli  won't  wait  supper  for  the  duke. 
Wherefore,  loiter  not  after  your  kerk  is  over." 

Joan  and  she  both  followed  her  to  the  door,  and  stood 
at  it  watching  her  a  good  way  down  the  street.  For 
among  homely  housewives  going  out  o'  doors  is  half  an 
incident.  Catherine  commented  on  the  launch :  "  There, 
Joan,  it  is  almost  to  me  as  if  I  had  just  started  my  own 
daughter  for  kerk,  and  stood  a-looking  after ;  the  which 
I've  done  it  manys  and  manys  the  times.  Joan,  lass, 
she  won't  hear  a  word  against  our  Gerard;  and,  be  he 
alive,  he  has  used  her  cruel;  that  is  why  my  bowels 
yearn  for  the  poor  wench.  I'm  older  and  wiser  than 
she,  and  so  I'll  wed  her  to  yon  simple  Luke,  and  there 
an  end.    What's  one  grandchild  ?  " 


332  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

The  sermon  had  begun  when  Margaret  entered  the 
great  church  of  St.  Laurens.  It  was  a  huge  edifice,  far 
from  completed.  Churches  were  not  built  in  a  year. 
The  side  aisles  were  roofed,  but  not  the  mid  aisle  nor 
the  chancel ;  the  pillars  and  arches  were  pretty  perfect, 
and  some  of  them  whitewashed.  But  only  one  window 
in  the  whole  church  was  glazed ;  the  rest  were  at  present 
great  jagged  openings  in  the  outer  walls. 

But  to-day  all  these  uncouth  imperfections  made  the 
church  beautiful.  It  was  a  glorious  summer  afternoon, 
and  the  sunshine  came  broken  into  marvellous  forms 
through  those  irregular  openings,  and  played  bewitching 
pranks  upon  so  many  broken  surfaces. 

It  streamed  through  the  gaping  walls,  and  clove  the 
dark,  cool,  side  aisles  with  rivers  of  glory,  and  dazzled 
and  glowed  on  the  white  pillars  beyond. 

And  nearly  the  whole  central  aisle  was  checkered 
with  light  and  shade  in  broken  outlines ;  the  shades 
seeming  cooler  and  more  soothing  than  ever  shade  was, 
and  the  lights  like  patches  of  amber  diamond,  animated 
with  heavenly  fire.  And  above,  from  west  to  east  the 
blue  sky  vaulted  the  lofty  aisle,  and  seemed  quite  close. 

The  sunny  caps  of  the  women  made  a  sea  of  white, 
contrasting  exquisitely  with  that  vivid  vault  of  blue. 

For  the  mid  aisle,  huge  as  it  was,  was  crammed,  yet 
quite  still.  The  words  and  the  mellow,  gentle,  earnest 
voice  of  the  preacher  held  them  mute. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  333 

Margaret  stood  spellbound  at  the  beauty,  the  devotion, 
"  the  great  calm."  She  got  behind  a  pillar  in  the  north 
aisle ;  and  there,  though  she  could  hardly  catch  a  word, 
a  sweet  devotional  languor  crept  over  her  at  the  loveli- 
ness of  the  place  and  the  preacher's  musical  voice ;  and 
balmy  oil  seemed  to  trickle  over  the  waves  in  her  heart 
and  smooth  them.  So  she  leaned  against  the  pillar  with 
eyes  half  closed,  and  all  seemed  soft  and  dreamy.  She 
felt  it  good  to  be  there. 

Presently  she  saw  a  lady  leave  an  excellent  place 
opposite,  to  get  out  of  the  sun,  which  was  indeed  pouring 
on  her  head  from  the  window.  Margaret  went  round 
softly  but  swiftly,  and  was  fortunate  enough  to  get  the 
place.  She  was  now  beside  a  pillar  of  the  south  aisle, 
and  not  above  fifty  feet  from  the  preacher.  She  was  at 
his  side,  a  little  behind  him,  but  could  hear  every  word. 

Her  attention,  however,  was  soon  distracted  by  the 
shadow  of  a  man's  head  and  shoulders  bobbing  up  and 
down  so  drolly  she  had  some  ado  to  keep  from  smiling. 

Yet  it  was  nothing  essentially  droll. 

It  was  the  sexton  digging. 

She  found  that  out  in  a  moment  by  looking  behind 
her,  through  the  window,  to  whence  the  shadow  came. 

Now  as  she  was  looking  at  Jorian  Ketel  digging,  sud- 
denly a  tone  of  the  preacher's  voice  fell  upon  her  ear 
and  her  mind  so  distinctly,  it  seemed  literally  to  strike 
her,  and  make  her  vibrate  inside  and  out. 

Her  hand  went  to  her  bosom,  so  strange  and  sudden 
was  the  thrill.  Then  she  turned  round,  and  looked  at 
the  preacher.  His  back  was  turned  and  nothing  visible 
but  his  tonsure.  She  sighed.  That  tonsure,  being  all 
she  saw,  contradicted  the  tone  effectually. 

Yet  she  now  leaned  a  little  forward  with  downcast 
eyes,  hoping  for  that  accent  again.  It  did  not  come. 
But  the  whole  voice  grew  strangely  upon  her.    It  rose 


334  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

and  fell  as  the  preacher  warmed;  and  it  seemed  to 
waken  faint  echoes  of  a  thousand  happy  memories.  She 
would  not  look  to  dispel  the  melancholy  pleasure  this 
voice  gave  her. 

Presently,  in  the  middle  of  an  eloquent  period,  the 
preacher  stopped. 

She  almost  sighed :  a  soothing  music  had  ended. 
Could  the  sermon  be  ended  already  ?  No :  she  looked 
round  ;  the  people  did  not  move. 

A  good  many  faces  seemed  now  to  turn  her  way.  She 
looked  behind  her  sharply.    There  was  nothing  there. 

Startled  countenances  near  her  now  eyed  the  preacher. 
She  followed  their  looks  ;  and  there,  in  the  pulpit,  was 
a  face  as  of  a  staring  corpse.  The  friar's  eyes,  naturally 
large,  and  made  larger  by  the  thinness  of  his  cheeks, 
were  dilated  to  supernatural  size,  and  glaring,  her  way, 
out  of  a  bloodless  face. 

She  cringed  and  turned  fearfully  round,  for  she  thought 
there  must  be  some  terrible  thing  near  her.  No  :  there 
was  nothing :  she  was  the  outside  figure  of  the  listening 
crowd. 

At  this  moment  the  church  fell  into  commotion. 
Figures  got  up  all  over  the  building,  and  craned  forward ; 
agitated  faces  by  hundreds  gazed  from  the  friar  to  Mar- 
garet, and  from  Margaret  to  the  friar.  The  turning  to 
and  fro  of  so  many  caps  made  a  loud  rustle.  Then  came 
shrieks  of  nervous  women,  and  buzzing  of  men ;  and 
Margaret,  seeing  so  many  eyes  levelled  at  her,  shrank 
terrified  behind  the  pillar,  with  one  scared,  hurried 
glance  at  the  preacher. 

Momentary  as  that  glance  was,  it  caught  in  that 
stricken  face  an  expression  that  made  her  shiver. 

She  turned  faint,  and  sat  down  on  a  heap  of  chips  the 
workmen  had  left,  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 
The  sermon  went  on  again.    She  heard  the  sound  of  it, 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


335 


but  not  the  sense.  She  tried  to  think,  but  her  mind  was 
in  a  whirl.  Thought  would  fix  itself  in  no  shape  but 
this  :  that  on  that  prodigy-stricken  face  she  had  seen  a 
look  stamped.  And  the  recollection  of  that  look  now 
made  her  quiver  from  head  to  foot. 

For  that  look  was  "  Recognition." 

The  sermon,  after  wavering  some  time,  ended  in  a 
strain  of  exalted,  nay,  feverish,  eloquence,  that  went  far 
to  make  the  crowd  forget  the  preacher's  strange  pause 
and  ghastly  glare. 

Margaret  mingled  hastily  with  the  crowd,  and  went  out 
of  the  church  with  them. 

They  went  their  ways  home.  But  she  turned  at  the 
door,  and  went  into  the  churchyard  to  Peter's  grave. 
Poor  as  she  was,  she  had  given  him  a  slab  and  a  head- 
stone. She  sat  down  on  the  slab,  and  kissed  it :  then 
threw  her  apron  over  her  head  that  no  one  might  dis- 
tinguish her  by  her  hair. 

"Father,"  she  said,  "thou  hast  often  heard  me  say 
I  am  wading  in  deep  waters ;  but  now  I  begin  to 
think  God  only  knows  the  bottom  of  them.  I'll  follow 
that  friar  round  the  world,  but  I'll  see  him  at  arm's 
length.  And  he  shall  tell  me  why  he  looked  towards 
me  like  a  dead  man  wakened,  and  not  a  soul  behind  me. 
0  father  !  you  often  praised  me  here  :  speak  a  word  for 
me  there  :  for  I  am  wading  in  deep  waters." 

Her  father's  tomb  commanded  a  side  view  of  the 
church  door. 

And  on  that  tomb  she  sat  with  her  face  covered,  way- 
laying the  holy  preacher. 


336  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

The  cool  church,  checkered  with  sunbeams  and  crowned 
with  heavenly  purple,  soothed  and  charmed  Father  Clem- 
ent, as  it  did  Margaret ;  and  more,  it  carried  his  mind 
direct  to  the  Creator  of  all  good  and  pure  delights. 
Then  his  eye  fell  on  the  great  aisle  crammed  with  his 
country  folk  :  a  thousand  snowy  caps  filigreed  with  gold. 
Many  a  hundred  leagues  he  had  travelled,  but  seen  noth- 
ing like  them,  except  snow.  In  the  morning  he  had 
thundered,  but  this  sweet  afternoon  seemed  out  of  tune 
with  threats.  His  bowels  yearned  over  that  multitude, 
and  he  must  tell  them  of  God's  love.  Poor  souls,  they 
heard  almost  as  little  of  it  from  the  pulpit  then-a-days 
as  the  heathen  used !  He  told  them  the  glad  tidings  of 
salvation.  The  people  hung  upon  his  gentle,  earnest 
tongue. 

He  was  not  one  of  those  preachers  who  keep  gyrating 
in  the  pulpit  like  the  weathercock  on  the  steeple.  He 
moved  the  hearts  of  others  more  than  his  own  body. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  he  did  not  entirely  neglect  those 
who  were  in  bad  places.  And  presently,  warm  with  this 
theme,  that  none  of  all  that  multitude  might  miss  the 
joyful  tidings  of  Christ's  love,  he  turned  him  towards 
the  south  aisle. 

And  there,  in  a  stream  of  sunshine  from  the  window, 
was  the  radiant  face  of  Margaret  Brandt.  He  gazed  at 
it  without  emotion.  It  just  benumbed  him  soul  and 
body. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


337 


But  soon  the  words  died  in  his  throat,  and  he  trembled 
as  he  glared  at  it. 

There,  with  her  auburn  hair  bathed  in  sunbeams,  and 
glittering  like  the  gloriola  of  a  saint,  and  her  face  glow- 
ing doubly  with  its  own  beauty,  and  the  sunshine  it  was 
set  in  —  stood  his  dead  love. 

She  was  leaning  very  lightly  against  a  white  column. 
She  was  listening  with  tender,  downcast  lashes. 

He  had  seen  her  listen  so  to  him  a  hundred  times. 

There  was  no  change  in  her.  This  was  the  blooming 
Margaret  he  had  left,  only  a  shade  riper  and  more  lovely. 

He  stared  at  her  with  monstrous  eyes  and  bloodless 
cheeks. 

The  people  died  out  of  his  sight.  He  heard,  as  in  a 
dream,  a  rustling  and  rising  all  over  the  church,  but 
could  not  take  his  prodigy-stricken  eyes  off  that  face, 
all  life,  and  bloom,  and  beauty,  and  that  wondrous  auburn 
hair  glistening  gloriously  in  the  sun. 

He  gazed,  thinking  she  must  vanish. 

She  remained. 

All  in  a  moment  she  was  looking  at  him,  full. 
Her  own  violet  eyes  ! 

At  this  he  was  beside  himself,  and  his  lips  parted  to 
shriek  out  her  name,  when  she  turned  her  head  swiftly, 
and  soon  after  vanished,  but  not  without  one  more 
glance,  which,  though  rapid  as  lightning,  encountered 
his,  and  left  her  couching  and  quivering  with  her  mind 
in  a  whirl,  and  him  panting  and  griping  the  pulpit  con- 
vulsively ;  for  this  glance  of  hers,  though  not  recogni- 
tion, was  the  startled  inquiring,  nameless,  indescribable 
look  that  precedes  recognition.  He  made  a  mighty 
effort,  and  muttered  something  nobody  could  understand, 
then  feebly  resumed  his  discourse,  and  stammered  and 
babbled  on  a  while,  till  by  degrees  forcing  himself,  now 
she  was  out  of  sight,  to  look  on  it  as  a  vision  from  the 
22 


338 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


other  world,  lie  rose  into  a  state  of  unnatural  excitement, 
and  concluded  in  a  style  of  eloquence  that  electrified 
the  simple,  for  it  bordered  on  rhapsody. 

The  sermon  ended,  he  sat  down  on  the  pulpit-stool 
terribly  shaken.  But  presently  an  idea  very  character- 
istic of  the  time  took  possession  of  him.  He  had 
sought  her  grave  at  Sevenbergen  in  vain.  She  had  now 
been  permitted  to  appear  to  him,  and  show  him  that  she 
was  buried  here;  probably  hard  by  that  very  pillar, 
where  her  spirit  had  showed  itself  to  him. 

This  idea  once  adopted  soon  settled  on  his  mind  with 
all  the  certainty  of  a  fact ;  and  he  felt  he  had  only  to 
speak  to  the  sexton  (whom  to  his  great  disgust  he  had 
seen  working  during  the  sermon),  to  learn  the  spot 
where  she  was  laid. 

The  church  was  now  quite  empty.  He  came  down 
from  the  pulpit  and  stepped  through  an  aperture  in  the 
south  wall  on  to  the  grass,  and  went  up  to  the  sexton. 
He  knew  him  in  a  moment.  But  Jorian  never  sus- 
pected the  poor  lad,  whose  life  he  had  saved,  in  this  holy 
friar.  The  loss  of  his  shapely  beard  had  wonderfully 
altered  the  outline  of  his  face.1  This  had  changed  him 
even  more  than  his  tonsure,  his  short  hair  sprinkled 
with  premature  gray,  and  his  cheeks  thinned  and  paled 
by  fasts  and  vigils. 

"  My  son,"  said  Friar  Clement  softly,  "  if  you  keep  any 
memory  of  those  whom  you  lay  in  the  earth,  prithee 
tell  me  is  any  Christian  buried  inside  the  church,  near 
one  of  the  pillars  ?  " 

"  Nay,  father,"  said  Jorian,  "  here  in  the  churchyard 
lie  buried  all  that  buried  be.    Why  ?  " 

1  Pietro  Vanucci  and  Andrea  did  not  recognize  him  without  his  beard. 
The  fact  is,  that  the  beard  which  has  never  known  a  razor  grows  in  a  very 
picturesque  and  characteristic  form,  and  becomes  a  feature  in  the  face,  so  that 
its  removal  may  in  some  cases  be  an  effectual  disguise. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  339 


a  No  matter.  Prithee  tell  me  then  where  lieth  Mar- 
garet Brandt." 

"  Margaret  Brandt  ?  "  And  J orian  stared  stupidly  at 
the  speaker. 

"  She  died  about  three  years  ago,  and  was  buried 
here." 

u  Oh,  that  is  another  matter,"  said  Jorian  ;  "  that  was 
before  my  time.  The  vicar  could  tell  you,  likely,  if  so 
be  she  was  a  gentlewoman,  or  at  the  least  rich  enough  to 
pay  him  his  fee." 

"  Alas,  my  son !  she  was  poor  (and  paid  a  heavy  pen- 
alty for  it),  but  born  of  decent  folk.  Her  father,  Peter, 
was  a  learned  physician  ;  she  came  hither  from  Seven- 
bergen  —  to  die." 

When  Clement  had  uttered  these  words  his  head  sunk 
upon  his  breast,  and  he  seemed  to  have  no  power  nor 
wish  to  question  Jorian  more.  I  doubt  even  if  he  knew 
where  he  was.    He  was  lost  in  the  past. 

Jorian  put  down  his  spade,  and,  standing  upright  in 
the  grave,  set  his  arms  akimbo,  and  said  sulkily,  "  Are 
you  making  a  fool  of  me,  holy  sir,  or  has  some  wag  been 
making  a  fool  of  you  ?  " 

And  having  relieved  his  mind  thus,  he  proceeded  to 
dig  again  with  a  certain  vigor  that  showed  his  somewhat 
irritable  temper  was  ruffled. 

Clement  gazed  at  him  with  a  puzzled  bat  gently  re- 
proachful eye,  for  the  tone  was  rude,  and  the  words  un- 
intelligible. 

Good-natured,  though  crusty,  Jorian  had  not  thrown 
up  three  spadefuls  ere  he  became  ashamed  of  it  himself. 
« Why,  what  a  base  churl  am  I  to  speak  thus  to  thee, 
holy  father ;  and  thou  a-standing  there  looking  at  me 
like  a  lamb.  Aha  !  I  have  it ;  'tis  Peter  Brandt's  grave 
you  would  fain  see,  not  Margaret's.  He  does  lie  here, 
hard  by  the  west  door.    There  ;  I'll  show  you."    And  he 


340  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


laid  down  his  spade,  and  put  on  his  doublet  and  jerkin 
to  go  with  the  friar. 

He  did  not  know  there  was  anybody  sitting  on  Peter's 
tomb ;  still  less  that  she  was  watching  for  this  holy 
friar. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  341 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

While  Jorian  was  putting  on  his  doublet  and  jerkin 
to  go  to  Peter's  tomb,  his  tongue  was  not  idle.  "  They 
used  to  call  him  a  magician  out  Sevenbergen  way.  And 
they  do  say  he  gave  'em  a  touch  of  his  trade  at  parting : 
told  'em  he  saw  Margaret's  lad  a-coming  down  Rhine  in 
brave  clothes  and  store  o'  money,  but  his  face  scarred  by 
foreign  glaive,  and  not  altogether  so  many  arms  and  legs 
as  a  went  away  wi\  But,  dear  heart,  nought  came  on't. 
Margaret  is  still  wearying  for  her  lad ;  and  Peter,  he 
lies  as  quiet  as  his  neighbors ;  not  but  what  she  hath 
put  a  stone  slab  over  him,  to  keep  him  where  he  is,  as 
you  shall  see." 

He  put  both  hands  on  the  edge  of  the  grave,  and  was 
about  to  raise  himself  out  of  it,  but  the  friar  laid  a 
trembling  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  said  in  a  strange 
whisper,  — 

"  How  long  since  died  Peter  Brandt  ?  99 

"  About  two  months.    Why  ?  " 

"  And  his  daughter  buried  him,  say  you  ?  " 

"  Nay,  I  buried  him,  but  she  paid  the  fee  and  reared 
the  stone.    Why  ?  " 

"  Then  —  but  he  had  but  one  daughter :  Margaret  ?  " 

"  No  more  :  leastways,  that  he  owned  to." 

"  Then  you  think  Margaret  is  —  is  alive  ? 99 

"  Think?  Why,  I  should  be  dead  else.  Riddle  me 
that." 

"  Alas,  how  can  I  ?    You  love  her !  " 
"No  more  than  reason,  being  a  married  man,  and 
father  of  four  more  sturdy  knaves  like  myself.  Nay, 


342  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


the  answer  is,  she  saved  my  life  scarce  six  weeks  agone. 
Now  had  she  been  dead,  she  couldn't  ha'  kept  me  alive. 
Bless  your  heart !  I  couldn't  keep  a  thing  on  my  stomach, 
nor  doctors  couldn't  make  me.  My  Joan  says,  '  'Tis  time 
to  buy  thee  a  shroud.'  — '  I  dare  say,  so  'tis,'  says  I,  '  but 
try  and  borrow  one  first.'  In  comes  my  lady,  this  Mar- 
garet, which  she  died  three  years  ago,  by  your  way  on't, 
opens  the  windows,  makes  'em  shift  me  where  I  lay,  and 
cures  me  in  the  twinkling  of  a  bed-post ;  but  wi'  what  ? 
there  pinches  the  shoe ;  with  the  scurviest  herb,  and  out 
of  my  own  garden,  too ;  with  sweet  feverfew.  A  herb, 
quotha,  'tis  a  weed ;  leastways  it  was  a  weed  till  it  cured 
me,  but  now  whene'er  I  pass  my  bunch  I  doff  bonnet, 
and,  says  I,  '  My  service  t'ye.'  Why,  how  now,  father, 
you  look  wondrous  pale,  and  now  you  are  red,  and  now 
you  are  white  ?  Why,  what  is  the  matter  ?  What  in 
Heaven's  name  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"The  surprise  —  the  joy  —  the  wonder  —  the  fear," 
gasped  Clement. 

"  Why,  what  is  it  to  thee  ?  Art  thou  of  kin  to  Mar- 
garet Brandt  ?  " 

"  Nay ;  but  I  knew  one  that  loved  her  well,  so  well 
her  death  nigh  killed  him,  body  and  soul.  And  yet  thou 
sayest  she  lives.    And  I  believe  thee." 

Jorian  stared,  and  after  a  considerable  silence,  said 
very  gravely,  "Father,  you  have  asked  me  many  ques- 
tions, and  I  have  answered  them  truly;  now,  for  our 
Lady's  sake,  answer  me  but  two.  Did  you  in  very  sooth 
know  one  who  loved  this  poor  lass  ?    Where  ?  " 

Clement  was  on  the  point  of  revealing  himself,  but 
he  remembered  Jerome's  letter,  and  shrank  from  being 
called  by  the  name  he  had  borne  in  the  world. 

"  I  knew  him  in  Italy,"  said  he. 

"If  you  knew  him  you  can  tell  me  his  name,"  said 
Jorian,  cautiously. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  343 


"His  name  was  Gerard  Eliassoen." 

"  Oh,  but  this  is  strange.  Stay,  what  made  thee  say 
Margaret  Brandt  was  dead  ?  " 

"  I  was  with  Gerard  when  a  letter  came  from  Margaret 
Van  Eyck.  The  letter  told  him  she  he  loved  was  dead 
and  buried.  Let  me  sit  down,  for  my  strength  fails  me. 
Foul  play  !  foul  play  ! " 

"Father,"  said  Jorian,  "I  thank  Heaven  for  sending 
thee  to  me.  Ay,  sit  ye  down  ;  ye  do  look  like  a  ghost ; 
ye  fast  overmuch  to  be  strong.  My  mind  misgives  me  ; 
methinks  I  hold  the  clew  to  this  riddle,  and,  if  I  do, 
there  be  two  knaves  in  this  town  whose  heads  I  would 
fain  batter  to  pieces  as  I  do  this  mould ; "  and  he  clenched 
his  teeth  and  raised  his  long  spade  above  his  head,  and 
brought  it  furiously  down  upon  the  heap  several  times. 
"  Foul  play  ?  You  never  said  a  truer  word  i'  your  life  ; 
and,  if  you  know  where  Gerard  is  now,  lose  no  time,  but 
show  him  the  trap  they  have  laid  for  him.  Mine  is  but 
a  dull  head,  but  whiles  the  slow  hound  puzzles  out  the 
scent  —  go  to.  And  I  do  think  you  and  I  ha'  got  hold 
of  two  ends  o'  one  stick,  and  a  main  foul  one." 

Jorian  then,  after  some  of  those  useless  preliminaries 
men  of  his  class  always  deal  in,  came  to  the  point  of  his 
story.  He  had  been  employed  by  the  burgomaster  of 
Tergou  to  repair  the  floor  of  an  upper  room  in  his  house, 
and,  when  it  was  almost  done,  coming  suddenly  to  fetch 
away  his  tools,  curiosity  had  been  excited  by  some  loud 
words  below,  and  he  had  lain  down  on  his  stomach,  and 
heard  the  burgomaster  talking  about  a  letter,  which 
Cornells  and  Sybrandt  were  minded  to  convey  into  the 
place  of  one  that  a  certain  Hans  Memling  was  taking  to 
Gerard :  "  and  it  seems  their  will  was  good,  but  their 
stomach  was  small ;  so  to  give  them  courage  the  old  man 
showed  them  a  drawer  full  of  silver,  and  if  they  did  the 
trick  they  should  each  put  a  hand  in,  and  have  all  the 


344  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

silver  they  could  hold  in't.  Well,  father,"  continued 
Jorian,  "  I  thought  not  much  on't  at  the  time,  except  for 
the  bargain  itself,  that  kept  me  awake  mostly  all  night, 
Think  out !  Next  morning  at  peep  of  day  who  should  I 
see  but  my  masters  Cornells  and  Sybrandt  come  out  of 
their  house  each  with  a  black  eye.  '  Oho/  says  1, 1  what, 
yon  Hans  hath  put  his  mark  on  ye ;  well  now,  I  hope  that 
is  all  ye  have  got  for  your  pains.'  Didn't  they  make  for 
the  burgomaster's  house  ?    I  to  my  hiding-place." 

At  this  part  of  Jorian's  revelation  the  monk's  nostril 
dilated,  and  his  restless  eye  showed  the  suspense  he  was 
in. 

"Well,  father,"  continued  Jorian,  "the  burgomaster 
brought  them  into  that  same  room.  He  had  a  letter  in 
his  hand ;  but  I  am  no  scholar ;  however,  I  have  got  as 
many  eyes  in  my  head  as  the  Pope  hath,  and  I  saw  the 
drawer  opened,  and  those  two  knaves  put  in  each  a  hand 
and  draw  it  out  full.  And,  saints  in  glory,  how  they  tried 
to  hold  more,  and  more,  and  more  o'  yon  stuff !  And 
Sybrandt,  he  had  daubed  his  hand  in  something  sticky,  I 
think  'twas  glue,  and  he  made  shift  to  carry  one  or  two 
pieces  away  a-sticking  to  the  back  of  his  hand,  he  !  he  ! 
he !  'Tis  a  sin  to  laugh.  So  you  see  luck  was  on  the 
wrong  side  as  usual ;  they  had  done  the  trick ;  but  how 
they  did  it,  that,  methinks,  will  never  be  known  till 
doomsday.  Go  to,  they  left  their  immortal  jewels  in 
yon  drawer.  Well,  they  got  a  handful  of  silver  for 
them ;  the  devil  had  the  worst  o'  yon  bargain.  There, 
father,  that  is  off  my  mind;  often  I  longed  to  tell  it 
some  one,  but  I  durst  not  to  the  women,  or  Margaret 
would  not  have  had  a  friend  left  in  the  world ;  for  those 
two  black-hearted  villains  are  the  favorites.  'Tis  always 
so.  Have  not  the  old  folk  just  taken  a  brave  new  shop 
for  them  in  this  very  town,  in  the  Hoog  Straet  ?  There 
may  you  see  their  sign,  a  gilt  sheep  and  a  lambkin  j  a 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


345 


brace  of  wolves  sucking  their  dam  would  be  niglier  the 
mark.  And  there  the  whole  family  feast  this  day ;  oh, 
'tis  a  fine  world.  What,  not  a  word,  holy  father  ;  you  sit 
there  like  stone,  and  have  not  even  a  curse  to  bestow  on 
them,  the  stony-hearted  miscreants.  What,  was  it  not 
enough  the  poor  lad  was  all  alone  in  a  strange  land; 
must  his  own  flesh  and  blood  go  and  lie  away  the  one 
blessing  his  enemies  had  left  him  ?  And  then  think  of 
her  pining  and  pining  all  these  years,  and  sitting  at  the 
window  looking  adown  the  street  for  Gerard  !  and  so 
constant,  so  tender^  and  true  :  my  wife  says  she  is  sure 
no  woman  ever  loved  a  man  truer  than  she  loves  the  lad 
those  villains  have  parted  from  her :  and  the  day  never 
passes  but  she  weeps  salt  tears  for  him.  And,  when  I 
think  that,  but  for  those  two  greedy  lying  knaves,  yon 
winsome  lad,  whose  life  I  saved,  might  be  by  her  side 
this  day  the  happiest  he  in  Holland  ;  and  the  sweet  lass 
that  saved  my  life  might  be  sitting  with  her  cheek  upon 
her  sweetheart's  shoulder,  the  happiest  she  in  Holland 
in  place  of  the  saddest ;  oh,  I  thirst  for  their  blood,  the 
nasty,  sneaking,  lying,  cogging,  cowardly,  heartless,  bow- 
elless  —  how  now  ! " 

The  monk  started  wildly  up,  livid  with  fury  and 
despair,  and  rushed  headlong  from  the  place  with  both 
hands  clenched  and  raised  on  high.  So  terrible  was  this 
inarticulate  burst  of  fury,  that  Jorian's  puny  ire  died  out 
at  sight  of  it,  and  he  stood  looking  dismayed  after  the 
human  tempest  he  had  launched. 

While  thus  absorbed  he  felt  his  arm  grasped  by  a 
small,  tremulous  hand. 

It  was  Margaret  Brandt. 

He  started :  her  coming  there  just  then  seemed  so 
strange. 

She  had  waited  long  on  Peter's  tombstone,  but  the 
friar  did  not  come.  So  she  went  into  the  church  to  see 
if  he  was  there  still.    She  could  not  find  him. 


34G  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


Presently,  going  up  the  south  aisle,  the  gigantic  shadow 
of  a  friar  came  rapidly  along  the  floor  and  part  of  a  pillar, 
and  seemed  to  pass  through  her.  She  was  near  scream- 
ing :  but  in  a  moment  remembered  J orian's  shadow  had 
come  in  so  from  the  churchyard :  and  tried  to  clamber 
out  the  nearest  way.  She  did  so,  but  with  some  diffi- 
culty ;  and  by  that  time  Clement  was  just  disappearing 
down  the  street :  yet,  so  expressive  at  times  is  the  body 
as  well  as  the  face,  she  could  see  he  was  greatly  agitated. 
Jorian  and  she  looked  at  one  another,  and  at  the  wild 
figure  of  the  distant  friar. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  she  to  Jorian,  trembling. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "you  startled  me.  How  come  you 
here  of  all  people  ?  " 

"  Is  this  a  time  for  idle  chat  ?  What  said  he  to  you  ? 
He  has  been  speaking  to  you  ;  deny  it  not." 

"Girl,  as  I  stand  here,  he  asked  me  whereabout  you 
were  buried  in  this  churchyard." 

"Ah?" 

"  I  told  him,  nowhere,  thank  Heaven  :  you  were  alive 
and  saving  other  folk  from  the  churchyard." 
"  Well  ?  " 

"  Well,  the  long  and  the  short  is,  he  knew  thy  Gerard 
in  Italy  :  and  a  letter  came  saying  you  were  dead ;  and 
it  broke  thy  poor  lad's  heart.  Let  me  see  ;  who  was  the 
letter  written  by  ?  Oh,  by  the  demoiselle  Van  Eyck. 
That  was  his  way  of  it.  But  I  up  and  told  him  nay ; 
'twas  neither  demoiselle  nor  dame  that  penned  yon  lie, 
but  Ghysbrecht  Van  Swieten,  and  those  foul  knaves, 
Cornells  and  Sybrandt ;  these  changed  the  true  letter 
for  one  of  their  own  ;  I  told  him  as  how  I  saw  the  whole 
villany  done,  through  a  chink ;  and  now,  if  I  have  not 
been  and  told  you  ! " 

"  Oh,  cruel !  cruel !  But  he  lives.  The  fear  of  fears 
is  gone.    Thank  God  ! " 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  347 


"  Ay,  lass ;  and  as  for  thine  enemies,  I  have  given 
them  a  dig.  For  yon  friar  is  friendly  to  Gerard,  and  he 
is  gone  to  Eli's  house,  methinks.  For  I  told  him  where 
to  find  Gerard's  enemies  and  thine,  and  wow  but  he  will 
give  them  their  lesson.  If  ever  a  man  was  mad  with 
rage,  it's  yon.  He  turned  black  and  white,  and  parted 
like  a  stone  from  a  sling.  Girl,  there  was  thunder  in  his 
eye  and  silence  on  his  lips.    Made  me  cold,  a  did." 

"0  J orian  !  what  have  you  done  ?  "  cried  Margaret. 
"  Quick  !  quick  !  help  me  thither,  for  the  power  is  gone 
all  out  of  my  body.  You  know  him  not  as  I  do.  Oh,  if 
you  had  seen  the  blow  he  gave  Ghysbrecht ;  and  heard 
the  frightful  crash !  Come,  save  him  from  worse  mis- 
chief. The  water  is  deep  enow ;  but  not  bloody  yet ; 
come  ! " 

Her  accents  were  so  full  of  agony  that  Jorian  sprang 
out  of  the  grave  and  came  with  her,  huddling  on  his 
jerkin  as  he  went. 

But,  as  they  hurried  along,  he  asked  her  what  on  earth 
she  meant.  "  I  talk  of  this  friar,  and  you  answer  me  of 
Gerard." 

"  Man,  see  you  not,  this  is  Gerard  ! " 
"  This  Gerard  !  what  mean  ye  ?  " 

"  I  mean,  yon  friar  is  my  boy's  father.  I  have  waited 
for  him  long,  Jorian.  Well,  he  is  come  to  me  at  last. 
And  thank  God  for  it.  Oh,  my  poor  child !  Quicker, 
Jorian,  quicker  ! " 

"  Why,  thou  art  mad  as  he.  Stay  !  By  St.  Bavon, 
yon  was  Gerard's  face ;  'twas  nought  like  it ;  yet  some- 
how —  'twas  it.  Come  on  !  come  on !  let  me  see  the 
end  of  this." 

"  The  end  ?    How  many  of  us  will  live  to  see  that  ?  " 
They  hurried  along  in  breathless  silence,  till  they 
reached  Hoog  Straet. 

Then  Jorian  tried  to  reassure  her.    "  You  are  making 


348  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


your  own  trouble/7  said  he  ;  "  who  says  he  has  gone 
thither  ?  more  likely  to  the  convent  to  weep  and  pray, 
poor  soul.    Oh,  cursed,  cursed  villains  !  " 

"  Did  not  you  tell  him.  where  those  villains  bide  ?  " 

"Ay,  that  I  did." 

"  Then  quicker,  0  Jorian,  quicker !  I  see  the  house. 
Thank  God  and  all  the  saints,  I  shall  be  in  time  to  calm 
him.  I  know  what  I'll  say  to  him  ;  Heaven  forgive  me  ! 
Poor  Catherine  !  'tis  of  her  I  think :  she  has  been  a 
mother  to  me." 

The  shop  was  a  corner  house,  with  two  doors  :  one  in 
the  main  street  for  customers,  and  a  house-door  round 
the  corner. 

Margaret  and  J orian  were  now  within  twenty  yards  of 
the  shop,  when  they  heard  a  roar  inside,  like  as  of  some 
wild  animal,  and  the  friar  burst  out,  white  and  raging, 
and  went  tearing  down  the  street. 

Margaret  screamed,  and  sank  fainting  on  Jorian's  arm. 

Jorian  shouted  after  him,  "  Stay,  madman,  know  thy 
friends." 

But  he  was  deaf,  and  went  headlong,  shaking  his 
clenched  fists  high,  high,  in  the  air. 

"  Help  me  in,  good  Jorian,"  moaned  Margaret,  turning 
suddenly  calm.    "  Let  me  know  the  worst,  and  die." 

He  supported  her  trembling  limbs  into  the  house. 

It  seemed  unnaturally  still ;  not  a  sound. 

Jorian's  own  heart  beat  fast. 

A  door  was  before  him,  unlatched.  He  pushed  it 
softly  with  his  left  hand,  and  Margaret  and  he  stood 
on  the  threshold. 

What  they  saw  there  you  shall  soon  know. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH-  849 


CHAPTEE  XXXIX. 

It  was  supper-time.  Eli's  family  were  collected  round 
the  board  ;  Margaret  only  was  missing.  To  Catherine's 
surprise,  Eli  said  he  would  wait  a  bit  for  her. 

"  Why,  I  told  her  you  would  not  wait  for  the  duke." 

"  She  is  not  the  duke  :  she  is  a  poor,  good  lass  that 
hath  waited  not  minutes,  but  years,  for  a  graceless  son 
of  mine.  You  can  put  the  meat  on  the  board  all  the 
same  ;  then  we  can  fall  to,  without  further  loss  o'  time, 
when  she  does  come." 

.  The  smoking  dishes  smelt  so  savory  that  Eli  gave  way. 
"  She  will  come  if  we  begin,"  said  he  ;  "  they  always  do. 
Come,  sit  ye  down,  Mistress  Joan;  y'are  not  here  for  a 
slave,  I  trow,  but  a  guest.  There,  I  hear  a  quick  step  — 
off  covers,  and  fall  to." 

The  covers  were  withdrawn,  and  the  knives  brandished. 
Then  burst  into  the  room,  not  the  expected  Margaret,  but 
a  Dominican  friar,  livid  with  rage. 

He  was  at  the  table  in  a  moment,  in  front  of  Cornells 
and  Sybrandt,  threw  his  tall  body  over  the  narrow  table, 
and,  with  two  hands  hovering  above  their  shrinking 
heads,  like  eagles  over  a  quarry,  he  cursed  them  by 
name,  soul  and  body,  in  this  world  and  the  next.  It 
was  an  age  eloquent  in  curses  :  and  this  curse  was  so 
full,  so  minute,  so  blighting,  blasting,  withering,  and 
tremendous,  that  I  am  afraid  to  put  all  the  words  on 
paper.  "  Cursed  be  the  lips,"  he  shrieked,  "  which  spoke 
the  lie  that  Margaret  was  dead ;  may  they  rot  before  the 
grave,  and  kiss  white-hot  iron  in  hell  thereafter ;  doubly 
cursed  be  the  hands  that  changed  those  letters,  and  be 


350  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


they  struck  off  by  the  hangman's  knife,  and  handle  hell- 
fire  forever  ;  thrice  accursed  be  the  cruel  hearts  that  did 
conceive  that  damned  lie,  to  part  true  love  forever ;  may 
they  sicken  and  wither  on  earth  joyless,  loveless,  hope- 
less ;  and  wither  to  dust  before  their  time  ;  and  burn  in 
eternal  fire."  He  cursed  the  meat  at  their  mouths,  and 
every  atom  of  their  bodies,  from  their  hair  to  the  soles 
of  their  feet.  Then  turning  from  the  cowering,  shudder, 
ing  pair,  who  had  almost  hid  themselves  beneath  the 
table,  he  tore  a  letter  out  of  his  bosom,  and  flung  it 
down  before  his  father. 

"  Read  that,  thou  hard  old  man,  that  didst  imprison 
thy  son ;  read,  and  see  what  monsters  thou  hast  brought 
into  the  world.  The  memory  of  my  wrongs  and  hers, 
dwell  with  you  all  forever !  I  will  meet  you  again  at 
the  judgment  dayj  on  earth  ye  will  never  see  me 
more." 

And  in  a  moment,  as  he  had  come,  so  he  was  gone, 
leaving  them  stiff,  and  cold,  and  white  as  statues,  round 
the  smoking  board. 

And  this  was  the  sight  that  greeted  Margaret's  eyes 
and  Jorian's  —  pale  figures  of  men  and  women  petrified 
around  the  untasted  food,  as  Eastern  poets  feigned. 

Margaret  glanced  her  eye  round,  and  gasped  out,  "  Oh, 
joy  !  all  here  ;  no  blood  hath  been  shed.  Oh,  you  cruel, 
cruel  men  !    I  thank  God  he  hath  not  slain  you." 

At  sight  of  her  Catherine  gave  an  eloquent  scream; 
then  turned  her  head  away.  But  Eli,  who  had  just  cast 
his  eye  over  the  false  letter,  and  begun  to  understand  it 
all,  seeing  the  other  victim  come  in  at  that  very  moment 
with  her  wrongs  reflected  in  her  sweet,  pale  face,  started 
to  his  feet  in  a  transport  of  rage,  and  shouted,  "  Stand 
clear,  and  let  me  get  at  the  traitors.  I'll  hang  for  them." 
And  in  a  moment  he  whipped  out  his  short  sword,  and 
fell  upon  them. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  351 


"  Fly  ! "  screamed  Margaret.    "  Fly  !  " 

They  slipped  howling  under  the  table,  and  crawled 
out  the  other  side. 

But>  ere  they  could  get  to  the  door,  the  furious  old 
man  ran  round  and  intercepted  them.  Catherine  only 
screamed  and  wrung  her  hands ;  your  notables  are  gen- 
erally useless  at  such  a  time  ;  and  blood  would  certainly 
have  flowed,  but  Margaret  and  Jorian  seized  the  fiery  old 
man's  arms,  and  held  them  with  all  their  might,  whilst 
the  pair  got  clear  of  the  house ;  then  they  let  him  go  ; 
and  he  went  vainly  raging  after  them  out  into  the 
street. 

They  were  a  furlong  off,  running  like  hares. 

He  hacked  down  the  board  on  which  their  names  were 
written,  and  brought  it  in-doors,  and  flung  it  into  the 
chimney-place. 

Catherine  was  sitting  rocking  herself  with  her  apron 
over  her  head.  Joan  had  run  to  her  husband.  Margaret 
had  her  arms  round  Catherine's  neck ;  and,  pale  and 
panting,  was  yet  making  efforts  to  comfort  her. 

But  it  was  not  to  be  done.  "  0  my  poor  children ! " 
she  cried.  "0  miserable  mother!  'Tis  a  mercy  Kate 
was  ill  up-stairs.  There,  I  have  lived  to  thank  God  for 
that  !  "  she  cried,  with  a  fresh  burst  of  sobs.  "  It  would 
have  killed  her.  He  had  better  have  stayed  in  Italy,  as 
come  home  to  curse  his  own  flesh  and  blood  and  set  us 
all  by  the  ears." 

"Oh,  hold  your  chat,  woman,"  cried  Eli,  angrily  ;  "you 
are  still  on  the  side  of  the  ill-doer.  You  are  cheap 
served ;  your  weakness  made  the  rogues  what  they  are ; 
I  was  for  correcting  them  in  their  youth :  for  sore  ills, 
sharp  remedies  ;  but  you  still  sided  with  their  faults,  and 
undermined  me,  and  baffled -wise  severity.  And  you, 
Margaret,  leave  comforting  her  that  ought  rather  to  com- 
fort you ;  for  what  is  her  hurt  to  yours  ?    But  she  never 


352  THE  CLOISTER  AXD  THE  HEARTH. 

had  a  grain  of  justice  under  her  skin ;  and  never  will. 
So  come  thou  to  me ;  that  am  thy  father  from  this 
hour." 

This  was  a  command ;  so  she  kissed  Catherine,  and 
went  tottering  to  him,  and  he  put  her  on  a  chair  beside 
him,  and  she  laid  her  feeble  head  on  his  honest  breast : 
but  not  a  tear:  it  was  too  deep  for  that. 

"  Poor  lamb,"  said  he.  After  awhile  —  "  Come,  good 
folks,"  said  true  Eli,  in  a  broken  voice,  to  Jorian  and 
Joan,  "  we  are  in  a  little  trouble,  as  you  see ;  but  that  is 
no  reason  you  should  starve.  For  our  Lady's  sake,  fall 
to ;  and  add  not  to  my  grief  the  reputation  of  a  churl. 
What  the  dickens  ! "  added  he,  with  a  sudden  ghastly 
attempt  at  stout-heartedness,  "  the  more  knaves  I  have 
the  luck  to  get  shut  of,  the  more  my  need  of  true  men 
and  women,  to  help  me  clear  the  dish,  and  cheer  mine 
eye  with  honest  faces  about  me  where  else  were  gaps. 
Fall  to,  I  do  entreat  ye." 

Catherine,  sobbing,  backed  his  request.  Poor,  simple, 
antique,  hospitable  souls !  Jorian,  whose  appetite,  espe- 
cially since  his  illness,  was  very  keen,  was  for  acting  on 
this  hospitable  invitation ;  but  Joan  whispered  a  word  in 
his  ear,  and  he  instantly  drew  back.  "Nay,  Fll  touch 
no  meat  that  holy  Church  hath  cursed." 

"In  sooth,  I  forgot,"  said  Eli,  apologetically.  "My 
son,  who  was  reared  at  my  table,  hath  cursed  my  victuals. 
That  seems  strange.  Well,  what  God  wills,  man  must 
bow  to." 

The  supper  was  flung  out  into  the  yard. 
Jorian  took  his  wife  home,  and  heavy  sadness  reigned 
in  Eli's  house  that  night. 

Meantime,  where  was  Clement  ? 

Lying  at  full  length  upon  the  floor  of  the  convent 
church,  with  his  lips  upon  the  lowest  step  of  the  altar, 
in  an  indescribable  state  of  terror,  misery,  penitence,  and 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  353 


self-abasement:  through  all  which  struggled  gleams  of 
joy  that  Margaret  was  alive. 

Night  fell  and  found  him  lying  there  weeping,  and 
praying :  and  morning  would  have  found  him  there  too ; 
but  he  suddenly  remembered  that,  absorbed  in  his  own 
wrongs  and  Margaret's,  he  had  committed  another  sin 
besides  intemperate  rage.  He  had  neglected  a  dying 
man. 

He  rose  instantly,  groaning  at  his  accumulated  wicked- 
ness, and  set  out  to  repair  the  omission.  The  weather 
had  changed ;  it  was  raining  hard,  and,  when  he  got 
clear  of  the  town,  he  heard  the  wolves  baying;  they 
were  on  the  foot.  But  Clement  was  himself  again,  or 
nearly ;  he  thought  little  of  danger  or  discomfort,  having 
a  shameful  omission  of  religious  duty  to  repair :  he  went 
stoutly  forward  through  rain  and  darkness. 

And,  as  he  went,  he  often  beat  his  breast,  and  cried, 
"  Mea  culpa  /  Mea  culpa  1 99 


354  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

What  that  sensitive  mind,  and  tender  conscience,  and 
loving  heart,  and  religious  soul,  went  through  even  in  a 
few  hours,  under  a  situation  so  sudden  and  tremendous, 
is  perhaps  beyond  the  power  of  words  to  paint. 

Fancy  yourself  the  man ;  and  then  put  yourself  in  his 
place ! 

Were  I  to  write  a  volume  on  it,  we  should  have  to 
come  to  that  at  last. 

I  shall  relate  his  next  two  overt  acts.  They  indicate 
his  state  of  mind  after  the  first  fierce  tempest  of  the 
soul  had  subsided. 

After  spending  the  night  with  the  dying  hermit  in 
giving  and  receiving  holy  consolations,  he  set  out  not  for 
Rotterdam,  but  for  Tergou.  He  went  there  to  confront 
his  fatal  enemy  the  burgomaster,  and,  by  means  of  that 
parchment,  whose  history  by-the-by  was  itself  a  romance, 
to  make  him  disgorge ;  and  give  Margaret  her  own. 

Heated  and  dusty,  he  stopped  at  the  fountain,  and 
there  began  to  eat  his  black  bread  and  drink  of  the 
water.  But  in  the  middle  of  his  frugal  meal  a  female 
servant  came  running,  and  begged  him  to  come  and  shrive 
her  dying  master.  He  returned  the  bread  to  his  wallet, 
and  followed  her  without  a  word. 

She  took  him  —  to  the  Stadthouse. 

He  drew  back  with  a  little  shudder  when  he  saw  her 
go  in. 

But  he  almos'  instantly  recovered  himself,  and  followed 
her  into  the  house,  and  up  the  stairs.  And  there  in  bed, 
propped  up  by  pillows,  lay  his  deadly  enemy,  looking 
already  like  a  corpse. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  355 


Clement  eyed  him  a  moment  from  the  door,  and  thought 
of  all  —  the  tower,  the  wood,  the  letter.  Then  he  said 
in  a  low  voice,  "  Pax  vobiscum  !  "  He  trembled  a  little 
while  he  said  it. 

The  sick  man  welcomed  him  as  eagerly  as  his  weak 
state  permitted.  "  Thank  Heaven,  thou  art  come  in  time 
to  absolve  me  from  my  sins,  father,  and  pray  for  my 
soul,  thou  and  thy  brethren." 

"  My  son,"  said  Clement,  "  before  absolution  cometh 
confession.  In  which  act  there  must  be  no  reservation, 
as  thou  valuest  thy  soul's  weal.  Bethink  thee,  therefore, 
wherein  thou  hast  most  offended  God  and  the  Church, 
while  I  offer  up  a  prayer  for  wisdom  to  direct  thee." 

Clement  then  kneeled  and  prayed ;  and,  when  he  rose 
from  his  knees,  he  said  to  Ghysbrecht,  with  apparent 
calmness,  "My  son,  confess  thy  sins." 

"  Ah,  father,"  said  the  sick  man,  "  they  are  many  and 
great." 

"  Great  then  be  thy  penitence,  my  son ;  so  shalt  thou 
find  God's  mercy  great." 

Ghysbrecht  put  his  hands  together,  and  began  to  con- 
fess with  every  appearance  of  contrition. 

He  owned  he  had  eaten  meat  in  mid-Lent.  He  had 
often  absented  himself  from  mass  on  the  Lord's  Day,  and 
saints'  days  :  and  had  trifled  with  other  religious  observ- 
ances, which  he  enumerated  with  scrupulous  fidelity. 

When  he  had  done,  the  friar  said  quietly,  "  'Tis  well, 
my  son.  These  be  faults.  Now  to  thy  crimes.  Thou 
hadst  done  better  to  begin  with  them." 

"  Why,  father,  what  crimes  lie  to  my  account  if  these 
be  none  ?  " 

"  Am  I  confessing  to  thee,  or  thou  to  me  ? "  said 
Clement,  somewhat  severely. 

"  Forgive  me,  father  !  Why,  surely,  I  to  you.  But  I 
know  not  what  you  call  crimes." 


356  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  The  seven  deadly  sins,  art  thou  clear  of  them  ?  n 

"  Heaven  f orfend  I  should  be  guilty  of  them.  I  know 
them  not  by  name." 

"  Many  do  them  all,  that  cannot  name  them.  Begin 
with  that  one  which  leads  to  lying,  theft,  and  murder." 

"  I  am  quit  of  that  one,  any  way.    How  call  you  it  ?  " 

"Avarice,  my  son." 

"  Avarice  ?  Oh,  as  to  that,  I  have  been  a  saving  man 
all  my  day ;  but  I  have  kept  a  good  table,  and  not 
altogether  forgotten  the  poor.  But,  alas,  I  am  a  great 
sinner.  Mayhap  the  next  will  catch  me.  What  is  the 
next  ?  " 

"  We  have  not  yet  done  with  this  one.  Bethink  thee, 
the  Church  is  not  to  be  trifled  with." 

"  Alas  !  am  I  in  a  condition  to  trifle  with  her  now  ? 
Avarice  ?    Avarice  ?  " 

He  looked  puzzled  and  innocent. 

"  Hast  thou  ever  robbed  the  fatherless  ?  "  inquired  the 
friar. 

"  Me  ?  robbed  the  fatherless  ?  "  gasped  Ghysbrecht ; 
"not  that  I  mind." 

"  Once  more,  my  son,  I  am  forced  to  tell  thee  thou  art 
trifling  with  the  Church.  Miserable  man  !  another  eva- 
sion, and  I  leave  thee,  and  fiends  will  straightway  gather 
round  thy  bed,  and  tear  thee  down  to  the  bottomless 
pit." 

"  Oh,  leave  me  not !  leave  me  not ! "  shrieked  the 
terrified  old  man.  "The  Church  knows  all.  I  must 
have  robbed  the  fatherless.  I  will  confess.  Who  shall 
I  begin  with  ?    My  memory  for  names  is  shaken." 

The  defence  was  skilful,  but  in  this  case  failed. 

"  Hast  thou  forgotten  Floris  Brandt  ?  "  said  Clement, 
stonily. 

The  sick  man  reared  himself  in  bed  in  a  pitiable  state 
of  terror. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


357 


"  How  knew  you  that  ?  "  said  he. 

"The  Church  knows  many  things,"  said  Clement, 
coldly,  "  and  by  many  ways  that  are  dark  to  thee.  Mis- 
erable impenitent,  you  called  her  to  your  side,  hoping 
to  deceive  her.  You  said  <  I  will  not  confess  to  the  cure, 
but  to  some  friar  who  knows  not  my  misdeeds.  So  will 
I  cheat  the  Church  on  my  death-bed,  and  die  as  I  have 
lived/  But  God,  kinder  to  thee  than  thou  art  to  thyself, 
sent  to  thee  one  whom  thou  couldst  not  deceive.  He  has 
tried  thee  ;  he  was  patient  with  thee,  and  warned  thee  not 
to  trifle  with  holy  Church ;  but  all  is  in  vain  ;  thou  canst 
not  confess;  for  thou  art  impenitent  as  a  stone.  Die, 
then,  as  thou  hast  lived.  Methinks  I  see  the  fiends 
crowding  round  the  bed  for  their  prey.  They  wait  but 
for  me  to  go.    And  I  go." 

He  turned  his  back ;  but  Ghysbrecht,  in  extremity  of 
terror,  caught  him  by  the  frock.  "  Oh,  holy  man,  mercy  ! 
stay.  I  will  confess  all,  all.  I  robbed  my  friend  Floris. 
Alas,  would  it  had  ended  there ;  for  he  lost  little  by  me ; 
but  I  kept  the  land  from  Peter  his  son,  and  from  Mar- 
garet, Peter's  daughter.  Yet  I  was  always  going  to  give 
it  back ;  but  I  couldn't,  I  couldn't." 

"  Avarice,  my  son,  avarice.  Happy  for  thee  'tis  not 
too  late." 

"  No.  I  will  leave  it  her  by  will.  She  will  not  have 
long  to  wait  for  it  now ;  not  above  a  month  or  two  at 
farthest." 

"For  which  month's  possession  thou  wouldst  damn 
thy  soul  forever.    Thou  fool ! " 

The  sick  man  groaned,  and  prayed  the  friar  to  be 
reasonable.  The  friar  firmly,  but  gently  and  persua- 
sively, persisted,  and  with  infinite  patience  detached  the 
dying  man's  grip  from  another's  property.  There  were 
times  when  his  patience  was  tried,  and  he  was  on  the 
point  of  thrusting  his  hand  into  his  bosom  and  produc 


358 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


ing  the  deed,  which  he  had  brought  for  that  purpose ; 
but  after  yesterday's  outbreak  he  was  on  his  guard 
against  choler ;  and,  to  conclude,  he  conquered  his  im- 
patience; he  conquered  a  personal  repugnance  to  the 
man,  so  strong  as  to  make  his  own  flesh  creep  all  the 
time  he  was  struggling  with  this  miser  for  his  soul ;  and 
at  last,  without  a  word  about  the  deed,  he  won  upon  him 
to  make  full  and  prompt  restitution. 

How  the  restitution  was  made  will  be  briefly  related 
elsewhere :  also  certain  curious  effects  produced  upon 
Ghysbrecht  by  it ;  and  when  and  on  what  terms  Ghys- 
brecht  and  Clement  parted. 

I  promised  to  relate  two  acts  of  the  latter,  indicative 
of  his  mind. 

This  is  one.    The  other  is  told  in  two  words. 

As  soon  as  he  was  quite  sure  Margaret  had  her  own, 
and  was  a  rich  woman,  — 

He  disappeared. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  359 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

It  was  the  day  after  that  terrible  scene ;  the"  little 
house  in  the  Hoog  Straet  was  like  a  grave,  and  none 
more  listless  and  dejected  than  Catherine,  so  busy  and 
sprightly  by  nature.  After  dinner,  her  eyes  red  with 
weeping,  she  went  to  the  convent  to  try  and  soften 
Gerard,  and  lay  the  first  stone  at  least  of  a  reconcilia- 
tion. It  was  some  time  before  she  could  make  the 
porter  understand  whom  she  was  seeking.  Eventually 
she  learned  he  had  left  late  last  night,  and  was  not 
expected  back.  She  went  sighing  with  the  news  to 
Margaret.  She  found  her  sitting  idle,  like  one  with 
whom  life  had  lost  its  savor ;  she  had  her  boy  clasped 
so  tight  in  her  arms,  as  if  he  was  all  she  had  left,  and 
she  feared  some  one  would  take  him  too.  Catherine 
begged  her  to  come  to  the  Hoog  Straet. 

"  What  for  ? "  sighed  Margaret.  "  You  cannot  but  say 
to  yourselves,  '  she  is  the  cause  of  all.' " 

"Nay,  nay,"  said  Catherine,  "we  are  not  so  ill-hearted, 
and  Eli  is  so  fond  on  you ;  you  will,  maybe,  soften  him." 

"  Oh,  if  you  think  I  can  do  any  good,  I'll  come,"  said 
Margaret,  with  a  weary  sigh. 

They  found  Eli  and  a  carpenter  putting  up  another 
name  in  place  of  Cornelis's  and  Sybrandt's  ;  and  what 
should  that  name  be,  but  Margaret  Brandt's. 

With  all  her  affection  for  Margaret,  this  went  through 
poor  Catherine  like  a  knife.  "The  bane  of  one  is 
another's  meat,"  said  she. 

"  Can  he  make  me  spend  the  money  unjustly  ? 99  re« 
plied  Margaret  coldly. 


360  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  You  are  a  good  soul,"  said  Catherine.  "  Ay,  so  best, 
sith  he  is  the  strongest." 

The  next  day  Giles  dropped  in,  and  Catherine  told  the 
story  all  in  favor  of  the  black  sheep,  and  invited  his 
pity  for  them,  anathematized  by  their  brother,  and  turned 
on  the  wide  world  by  their  father.  But  Giles's  preju- 
dices ran  the  other  way  ;  he  heard  her  out,  and  told  her 
bluntly  the  knaves  had  got  off  cheap ;  they  deserved  to 
be  hanged  at  Margaret's  door  into  the  bargain,  and,  dis- 
missing them  with  contempt,  crowed  with  delight  at  the 
return  of  his  favorite.  "  I'll  show  him,"  said  he,  "  what 
'tis  to  have  a  brother  at  court  with  a  heart  to  serve  a 
friend,  and  a  head  to  point  the  way." 

"  Bless  thee,  Giles,"  murmured  Margaret  softly. 

"  Thou  wast  ever  his  stanch  friend,  dear  Giles,"  said 
little  Kate  ;  "  but  alack,  I  know  not  what  thou  canst  do 
for  him  now." 

Giles  had  left  them,  and  all  was  sad  and  silent  again, 
when  a  well-dressed  man  opened  the  door  softly,  and 
asked  was  Margaret  Brandt  here. 

"  D'ye  hear,  lass  ?  You  are  wanted,"  said  Catherine 
briskly.    In  her  the  gossip  was  indestructible. 

"Well,  mother,"  said  Margaret  listlessly,  "and  here 
I  am." 

A  shuffling  of  feet  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  a  color- 
less, feeble  old  man  was  assisted  into  the  room.  It  was 
Ghysbrecht  Van  Swieten.  At  sight  of  him,  Catherine 
shrieked,  and  threw  her  apron  over  her  head,  and  Mar- 
garet shuddered  violently,  and  turned  her  head  swiftly 
away,  not  to  see  him. 

A  feeble  voice  issued  from  the  strange  visitor's  lips : 
"  Good  people,  a  dying  man  hath  come  to  ask  your 
forgiveness." 

"  Come  to  look  on  your  work,  you  mean,"  said  Cathe- 
rine, taking  down  her  apron,  and  bursting  out  sob- 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  361 


bing.  a  There,  there,  she  is  fainting ;  look  to  her,  Eli, 
quick." 

"  Nay,"  said  Margaret,  in  a  feeble  voice,  "  the  sight  of 
him  gave  me  a  turn,  that  is  all.  Prithee  let  him  say  his 
say,  and  go ;  for  he  is  the  murtherer  of  me  and  mine." 

"  Alas,"  said  Ghysbrecht,  "  I  am  too  feeble  to  say  it 
standing,  and  no  one  biddeth  me  sit  down." 

Eli,  who  had  followed  him  into  the  house,  interfered 
here,  and  said,  half  sullenly,  half  apologetically,  "Well, 
burgomaster,  'tis  not  our  wont  to  leave  a  visitor  standing 
whiles  we  sit.  But,  man,  man,  you  have  wrought  us  too 
much  ill."  And  the  honest  fellow's  voice  began  to  shake 
with  anger  he  fought  hard  to  contain,  because  it  was  his 
own  house. 

Then  Ghysbrecht  found  an  advocate  in  one  who  sel- 
dom spoke  in  vain  in  that  family. 

It  was  little  Kate.  "  Father,  mother,"  said  she,  "  my 
duty  to  you,  but  this  is  not  well.  Death  squares  all 
accounts.  And  see  you  not  death  in  his  face  ?  I  shall 
not  live  long,  good  friends ;  and  his  time  is  shorter  than 
mine." 

Eli  made  haste  and  set  a  chair  for  their  dying  enemy 
with  his  own  hands.  Ghysbrecht's  attendants  put  him 
into  it.  "  Go  fetch  the  boxes,"  said  he.  They  brought 
in  two  boxes,  and  then  retired,  leaving  their  master  alone 
in  the  family  he  had  so  cruelly  injured. 

Every  eye  was  now  bent  on  him,  except  Margaret's. 
He  undid  the  boxes,  with  unsteady  fingers,  and  brought 
out  one  of  the  title-deeds  of  a  property  at  Tergou. 
"  This  land  and  these  houses  belonged  to  Floris  Brandt, 
and  do  belong  to  thee  of  right,  his  granddaughter. 
These  I  did  usurp  for  a  debt  long  since  defrayed  with 
interest.  These  I  now  restore  their  rightful  owner  with 
penitent  tears.  In  this  other  box  are  three  hundred  and 
forty  golden  angels,  being  the  rent  and  fines  I  have 


362  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


received  from  that  land  more  than  Floris  Brandt's  debt 
to  me.  I  have  kept  compt,  still  meaning  to  be  just  one 
day;  but  Avarice  withheld  me.  Pray,  good  people, 
against  temptation  !  I  was  not  born  dishonest;  yet  you 
see." 

"  Well,  to  be  sure ! 99  cried  Catherine.  "  And  you  the 
burgomaster !  Hast  whipt  good  store  of  thieves  in  thy 
day.  However,"  said  she,  on  second  thoughts,  "'tis 
better  late  than  never.  What,  Margaret,  art  deaf  ?  The 
good  man  hath  brought  thee  back  thine  own.  Art  a  rich 
woman.    Alack,  what  a  mountain  o'  gold !  " 

"  Bid  him  keep  land  and  gold,  and  give  me  back  my 
Gerard,  that  he  stole  from  me  with  his  treason,"  said 
Margaret,  with  her  head  still  averted. 

"  Alas  ! 99  said  Ghysbrecht,  "  would  I  could.  What  I 
can  I  have  done.  Is  it  nought  ?  It  cost  me  a  sore 
struggle ;  and  I  rose  from  my  last  bed  to  do  it  myself, 
lest  some  mischance  should  come  between  her  and  her 
rights." 

"  Old  man,"  said  Margaret,  "  since  thou,  whose  idol  is 
pelf,  hast  done  this,  God  and  the  saints  will,  as  I  hope, 
forgive  thee.  As  for  me,  I  am  neither  saint  nor  angel, 
but  only  a  poor  woman,  whose  heart  thou  hast  broken. 
Speak  to  him,  Kate ;  for  I  am  like  the  dead." 

Kate  meditated  a  little  while;  and  then  her  soft 
silvery  voice  fell  like  a  soothing  melody  upon  the  air. 
"  My  poor  sister  hath  a  sorrow  that  riches  cannot  heal. 
Give  her  time,  Ghysbrecht ;  'tis  not  in  nature  she  should 
forgive  thee  all.  Her  boy  is  fatherless;  and  she  is 
neither  maid,  wife,  nor  widow;  and  the  blow  fell  but 
two  days  syne,  that  laid  her  heart  a-bleeding." 

A  single  heavy  sob  from  Margaret  was  the  comment 
to  these  words. 

"  Therefore,  give  her  time  !  And,  ere  thou  diest,  she 
will  forgive  thee  all,  ay,  even  to  pleasure  me,  that  haply 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  363 


shall  not  be  long  behind  thee,  Ghysbrecht.  Meantime, 
we,  whose  wounds  be  sore,  but  not  so  deep  as  hers,  do 
pardon  thee,  a  penitent  and  a  dying  man  ;  and  I,  for  one, 
will  pray  for  thee  from  this  hour ;  go  in  peace  !  " 

Their  little  oracle  had  spoken ;  it  was  enough.  Eli 
even  invited  him  to  break  a  manchet  and  drink  a  stoup 
of  wine  to  give  him  heart  for  his  journey. 

But  Ghysbrecht  declined,  and  said  what  he  had  done 
was  a  cordial  to  him.  "Man  seeth  but  a  little  way 
before  him,  neighbor.  This  land  I  clung  so  to,  it  was  a 
bed  of  nettles  to  me  all  the  time.  'Tis  gone  :  and  I  feel 
happier  and  livelier  like  for  the  loss  on't." 

He  called  his  men  and  they  lifted  him  into  the  litter. 

When  he  was  gone,  Catherine  gloated  over  the  money. 
She  had  never  seen  so  much  together,  and  was  almost 
angry  with  Margaret,  for  "sitting  out  there  like  an 
image."    And  she  dilated  on  the  advantages  of  money. 

And  she  teased  Margaret  till  at  last  she  prevailed  on 
her  to  come  and  look  at  it. 

"Better  let  her  be,  mother,"  said  Kate.  "How  can 
she  relish  gold,  with  a  heart  in  her  bosom  liker  lead  ?  " 
But  Catherine  persisted. 

The  result  was,  Margaret  looked  down  at  all  her 
wealth  with  wondering  eyes.  Then  suddenly  wrung  her 
hands  and  cried  with  piercing  anguish,  "  Too  late  !  too 
late  !  "  And  shook  off  her  leaden  despondency,  only  to 
go  into  strong  hysterics  over  the  wealth  that  came  too 
late  to  be  shared  with  him  she  loved. 

A  little  of  this  gold,  a  portion  of  this  land,  a  year  or 
two  ago,  when  it  was  as  much  her  own  as  now;  and 
Gerard  would  have  never  left  her  side  for  Italy  or  any 
other  place. 

Too  late !   Too  late  I 


364  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

Not  many  days  after  this  came  the  news  that  Mar« 
garet  Van  Eyck  was  dead  and  buried.  By  a  will  she 
had  made  a  year  before,  she  left  all  her  property,  after 
her  funeral  expenses  and  certain  presents  to  Eeicht 
Heynes,  to  her  dear  daughter  Margaret  Brandt,  request- 
ing her  to  keep  Reicht  as  long  as  unmarried.  By  this 
will  Margaret  inherited  a  furnished  house,  and  pictures 
and  sketches  that  in  the  present  day  would  be  a  fortune  : 
among  the  pictures  was  one  she  valued  more  than  a 
gallery  of  others.  It  represented  "  A  Betrothal."  The 
solemnity  of  the  ceremony  was  marked  in  the  grave 
face  of  the  man,  and  the  demure  complacency  of  the 
woman.  She  was  painted  almost  entirely  by  Margaret 
Van  Eyck,  but  the  rest  of  the  picture  by  Jan.  The 
accessories  were  exquisitely  finished,  and  remain  a  mar- 
vel of  skill  to  this  day.  Margaret  Brandt  sent  word  to 
Reicht  to  stay  in  the  house  till  such  time  as  she  could 
find  the  heart  to  put  foot  in  it,  and  miss  the  face  and 
voice  that  used  to  meet  her  there :  and  to  take  special 
care  of  the  picture  "  in  the  little  cubboord ; "  meaning 
the  diptych. 

The  next  thing  was,  Luke  Peterson  came  home,  and 
heard  that  Gerard  was  a  monk. 

He  was  like  to  go  mad  with  joy.  He  came  to  Mar- 
garet and  said,  — 

"Never  heed,  mistress.  If  he  cannot  marry  you,  I 
can." 

"  You  ?  "  said  Margaret.    "  Why,  I  have  seen  him." 
"  But  he  is  a  friar." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  365 


"  He  was  my  husband,  and  my  boy's  f athei  long  ere 
he  was  a  friar.    And  I  have  seen  him.    I've  seen  him." 

Luke  was  thoroughly  puzzled.  "  I'll  tell  you  what," 
said  he ;  "  I  have  got  a  cousin  a  lawyer.  I'll  go  and  ask 
him  whether  you  are  married  or  single." 

"  Kay,  I  shall  ask  my  own  heart,  not  a  lawyer.  So 
that  is  your  regard  for  me  ;  to  go  making  me  the  town 
talk,  oh,  fie  ! " 

"  That  is  done  already  without  a  word  from  me." 

"  But  not  by  such  as  seek  my  respect.  And  if  you  do 
it,  never  come  nigh  me  again." 

"  Ay,"  said  Luke,  with  a  sigh,  "  you  are  like  a  dove  to 
all  the  rest ;  but  you  are  a  hard-hearted  tyrant  to  me." 

"'Tis  your  own  fault,  dear  Luke,  for  wooing  me. 
That  is  what  lets  me  from  being  as  kind  to  you  as  I 
desire.  Luke,  my  bonny  lad,  listen  to  me.  I  am  rich 
now ;  I  can  make  my  friends  happy,  though  not  myself. 
Look  round  the  street,  look  round  the  parish.  There  is 
many  a  quean  in  it,  fairer  than  I  twice  told,  and  not 
spoiled  with  weeping.  Look  high :  and  take  your  choice. 
Speak  you  to  the  lass  herself,  and  I'll  speak  to  the 
mother ;  they  shall  not  say  thee  nay ;  take  my  word 
fort." 

"  I  see  what  ye  mean,"  said  Luke,  turning  very  red. 
"But  if  I  can't  have  your  liking,  I  will  none  o'  your 
money.  I  was  your  servant  when  you  were  poor  as  I ; 
and  poorer.  No ;  if  you  would  liever  be  a  friar's  leman 
than  an  honest  man's  wife,  you  are  not  the  woman  I 
took  you  for ;  so  part  we  withouten  malice ;  seek  you 
your  comfort  on  yon  road,  where  never  a  she  did  find  it 
yet,  and,  for  me,  I'll  live  and  die  a  bachelor.  Good  even, 
mistress." 

"  Farewell,  dear  Luke ;  and  God  forgive  you  for  say- 
ing that  to  me." 

For  some  days  Margaret  dreaded,  almost  as  much  as 


366  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

she  desired,  the  coming  interview  with  Gerard.  She 
said  to  herself,  "I  wonder  not  he  keeps  away  awhile; 
for  so  should  I."  However,  he  would  hear  he  was  a 
father ;  and  the  desire  to  see  their  boy  would  overcome 
everything ;  "  and,"  said  the  poor  girl  to  herself,  "  if  so 
be  that  meeting  does  not  kill  me,  I  feel  I  shall  be  better 
after  it  than  I  am  now." 

But  when  day  after  day  went  by,  and  he  was  not 
heard  of,  a  freezing  suspicion  began  to  crawl  and  creep 
towards  her  mind.  What  if  his  absence  was  intentional  ? 
What  if  he  had  gone  to  some  cold-blooded  monks  his 
fellows,  and  they  had  told  him  never  to  see  her  more  ? 
The  convent  had  ere  this  shown  itself  as  merciless  to 
true  lovers  as  the  grave  itself. 

At  this  thought  the  very  life  seemed  to  die  out  of  her. 

And  now  for  the  first  time  deep  indignation  mingled 
at  times  with  her  grief  and  apprehension.  "  Can  he 
have  ever  loved  me  ?  To  run  from  me  and  his  boy  with- 
out a  word !  Why  this  poor  Luke  thinks  more  of  me 
than  he  does." 

While  her  mind  was  in  this  state,  Giles  came  roaring, 
"  I've  hit  the  clout ;  our  Gerard  is  Vicar  of  Gouda." 

A  very  brief  sketch  of  the  dwarf's  court  life  will 
suffice  to  prepare  the  reader  for  his  own  account  of  this 
feat.  Some  months  before  he  went  to  court  his  intelli- 
gence had  budded.  He  himself  dated  the  change  from  a 
certain  8th  of  June,  when,  swinging  by  one  hand  along 
with  the  week's  washing  on  a  tight  rope  in  the  drying 
ground,  something  went  crack  inside  his  head  :  and  lo  ! 
intellectual  powers  unchained.  At  court  his  shrewdness 
and  bluntness  of  speech,  coupled  with  his  gigantic  voice 
and  his  small  stature,  made  him  a  power ;  without  the 
last  item  I  fear  they  would  have  conducted  him  to  that 
unpopular  gymnasium,  the  gallows.  The  young  Duchess 
of  Burgundy,  and  Marie,  the  heiress  apparent,  both 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  367 


petted  him,  as  great  ladies  have  petted  dwarfs  in  all 
ages  ;  and  the  court  poet  melted  butter  by  the  six-foot 
rule,  and  poured  enough  of  it  down  his  back  to  stew 
Goliah  in.  He  even  amplified,  versified,  and  enfeebled, 
certain  rough  and  ready  sentences  dictated  by  Giles. 

The  centipedal  prolixity  that  resulted  went  to  Eli  by 
letter,  thus  entitled : 

"  The  high  and  puissant  Princess  Marie 
of  Bourgogne  her  lytel  jantilman  hys 
complaynt  of  ye  Coort,  and 

praise  of  a  rusticall  lyfe,  versificated,  and  empapyred 
by  me  the  lytel  jantilman's  right  lovynge 
and  obsequious  servitor,  etc.1' 

But  the  dwarf  reached  his  climax  by  a  happy  mixture 
of  mind  and  muscle  ;  thus  : 

The  day  before  a  grand  court  joust  he  challenged  the 
duke's  giant  to  a  trial  of  strength.  This  challenge  made 
the  gravest  grin,  and  aroused  expectation. 

Giles  had  a  lofty  pole  planted  ready,  and  at  the  ap- 
pointed hour  went  up  it  like  a  squirrel,  and  by  strength 
of  arm  made  a  right  angle  with  his  body,  and  so  re- 
mained ;  then  slid  down  so  quickly,  that  the  high  and 
puissant  princess  squeaked,  and  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands,  not  to  see  the  demise  of  her  pocket-Hercules. 

The  giant  effected  only  about  ten  feet,  then  looked 
ruefully  up  and  ruefully  down,  and  descended,  bathed 
in  perspiration,  to  argue  the  matter. 

"  It  was  not  the  dwarf's  greater  strength,  but  his 
smaller  body." 

The  spectators  received  this  excuse  with  loud  derision. 
There  was  the  fact,  the  dwarf  was  great  at  mounting  a 
pole ;  the  giant  only  great  at  excuses.  In  short  Giles 
had  gauged  their  intellects,  —  with  his  own  body,  no 
doubt. 


368  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  Come,"  said  he,  "  an  ye  go  to  that,  I'll  wrestle  ye, 
my  lad,  if  so  be  you  will  let  me  blindfold  your  eyne." 

The  giant  smarting  under  defeat,  and  thinking  he 
could  surely  recover  it  by  this  means,  readily  consented. 

"  Madam,"  said  Giles,  "  see  you  yon  blind  Samson  ? 
At  a  signal  from  me  he  shall  make  me  a  low  obeisance, 
and  unbonnet  to  me." 

"  How  may  that  be,  being  blinded  ?  "  inquired  a  maid 
of  honor. 

"  That  is  my  affair." 

"  I'll  wager  on  Giles  for  one,"  said  the  princess. 

When  several  wa-gers  were  laid  pro  and  con,  Giles  hit 
the  giant  in  the  bread-basket.  He  went  double  (the 
cbeisance),  and  his  bonnet  fell  off. 

The  company  yelled  with  delight  at  this  delicate 
stroke  of  wit,  and  Giles  took  to  his  heels.  The  giant 
followed  as  soon  as  he  could  recover  his  breath  and  tear 
off  his  bandage.  But  it  was  too  late;  Giles  had  pre- 
pared a  little  door  in  the  wall,  through  which  he  could 
pass,  but  not  a  giant,  and  had  colored  it  so  artfully  it 
looked  like  wall ;  this  door  he  tore  open,  and  went  head- 
long through,  leaving  no  vestige  but  this  posy,  written 
very  large  upon  the  reverse  of  his  trick  door : 

Long  limbs,  big  body,  wanting  wit, 
By  wee  and  wise  is  bet  and  bit. 

After  this  Giles  became  a  force. 
He  shall  now  speak  for  himself. 

Finding  Margaret  unable  to  believe  the  good  news, 
and  sceptical  as  to  the  affairs  of  holy  Church  being  ad- 
ministered by  dwarfs,  he  narrated  as  follows  : 

"  When  the  princess  sent  for  me  to  her  bedroom  as  of 
custom,  to  keep  her  out  of  languor,  I  came  not  mirthful 
nor  full  of  country  diets,  as  is  my  wont,  but  dull  as  lead. 

"  '  Why,  what  aileth  thee  ?  '  quo'  she.    '  Art  sick  ? 9 


MADAM,"  SAID  GILES,   "  SEE  YOU  YON  BLIND  SAMSON? 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  389 


—  At  heart/  quo'  I.  'Alas,  he  is  in  love/  quo'  she. 
Whereat  five  brazen  hussies,  which  they  call  them 
maids  of  honor,  did  giggle  loud.  '  Not  so  mad  as  that,' 
said  I,  '  seeing  what  I  see  at  court  of  women  folk.' 

"  '  There,  ladies,'  quo'  the  princess,  '  best  let  him  a  be. 
>Tis  a  liberal  mannikin,  and  still  giveth  more  than  he 
taketh  of  saucy  words.' 

"  '  In  all  sadness,'  quo'  she,  '  what  is  the  matter  ?  ' 

"  I  told  her  I  was  meditating,  and  what  perplexed  me 
was,  that  other  folk  could  now  and  then  keep  their  word, 
but  princes  never. 

"  'Heyday,'  says  she,  'thy  shafts  fly  high  this  morn.' 
I  told  her,  '  Ay,  for  they  hit  the  truth.' 

"  She  said  I  was  as  keen  as  keen ;  but  it  became  not 
me  to  put  riddles  to  her,  nor  her  to  answer  them. 
'  Stand  aloof  a  bit,  mesdames,'  said  she,  '  and  thou  speak 
withouten  fear  ; '  for  she  saw  I  was  in  sad  earnest. 

"I  began  to  quake  a  bit;  for  mind  ye,  she  can  doff 
freedom  and  don  dignity  quicker  than  she  can  slip  out 
of  her  dressing-gown  into  kirtle  of  state.  But  I  made 
my  voice  so  soft  as  honey ;  (wherefore  smilest  ?)  and  I 
said,  '  Madam,  one  evening,  a  matter  of  five  years  agone, 
as  ye  sat  with  your  mother,  the  Countess  of  Charolois, 
who  is  now  in  heaven,  worse  luck,  you  wi'  your  lute,  and 
she  wi'  her  tapestry,  or  the  like  ;  do  ye  mind  there  came 
in  to  ye  a  fair  youth  —  with  a  letter  from  a  painter  body, 
one  Margaret  Van  Eyck  ?  ' 

"  She  said  she  thought  she  did.  '  Was  it  not  a  tall 
youth,  exceeding  comely  ?  9 

" '  Ay,  madam,'  said  I,  '  he  was  my  brother.' 

" '  Your  brother  ? '  said  she,  and  did  eye  me  like  all 
over.    (What  dost  smile  at  ?) 

"  So  I  told  her  all  that  passed  between  her  and  Gerard, 
and  how  she  was  for  giving  him  a  bishopric ;  but  the 
good  countess  said,  '  Gently,  Marie  !  He  is  too  young ; 1 
24  .    - 


370  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


and  with  that  they  did  both  promise  him  a  living;  <Yet,? 
said  I,  'he  hath  been  a  priest  a  long  while,  and  no  living. 
Hence  my  bile.' 

"  1  Alas  ! '  said  she,  1  'tis  not  by  my  good  will.  For  all 
this  thon  hast  said  is  sooth ;  and  more,  I  do  remember 
my  dear  mother  said  to  me,  "  See  thou  to  it  if  I  be  not 
here."  '  So  then  she  cried  out,  '  Ay,  dear  mother,  no 
word  of  thine  shall  ever  fall  to  the  ground.' 

"I  seeing  her  so  ripe,  said  quickly,  ' Madam,  the  Vicar 
of  Gouda  died  last  week.'  (For  when  ye  seek  favors 
of  the  great,  behooves  ye  know  the  very  thing  ye  aim 
at.) 

"  '  Then  thy  brother  is  Vicar  of  Gouda,'  quo'  she,  '  so 
sure  as  I  am  heiress  of  Burgundy  and  the  Netherlands. 
Nay,  thank  me  not,  good  Giles,'  quo'  she ;  *  but  my  good 
mother.  And  I  do  thank  thee  for  giving  of  me  some- 
what to  do  for  her  memory.'  And  doesn't  she  fall 
a-weeping  for  her  mother  ?  and  doesn't  that  set  me  off 
a-sniveiling  for  my  good  brother  that  I  love  so  dear,  and 
to  think  that  a  poor  little  elf  like  me  could  yet  speak  in 
the  ear  of  princes,  and  make  my  beautiful  brother  Vicar 
of  Gouda;  eh,  lass,  it  is  a  bonny  place,  and  a  bonny 
manse,  and  hawthorn  in  every  bush  at  spring-tide,  and 
dog-roses  and  eglantine  in  every  summer  hedge.  I  know 
what  the  poor  fool  affects,  leave  that  to  me." 

The  dwarf  began  his  narrative  strutting  to  and  fro 
before  Margaret ;  but  he  ended  it  in  her  arms.  For  she 
could  not  contain  herself,  but  caught  him,  and  embraced 
him  warmly.  "  0  Giles,"  she  said,  blushing,  and  kiss- 
ing him,  "  I  cannot  keep  my  hands  off  thee,  thy  body  it 
is  so  little,  and  thy  heart  so  great.  Thou  art  his  true 
friend.  Bless  thee !  bless  thee  !  bless  thee  !  Now  we 
shall  see  him  again.  We  have  not  set  eyes  on  him  since 
that  terrible  day." 

"Gramercy,  but  that  is  strange,"  said  Giles.  "Maybe 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  371 


he  is  ashamed  of  having  cursed  those  two  vagabones, 
being  our  own  flesh  and  blood,  worse  luck." 

"  Think  you  that  is  why  he  hides  ?  "  said  Margaret, 
eagerly. 

"  Ay,  if  he  is  hiding  at  all.  However,  I'll  cry  him  by 
bell-man." 

"  Nay,  that  might  much  offend  him." 

"  What  care  I  ?  Is  Gouda  to  go  vicarless,  and  the 
manse  in  nettles  ?  " 

And,  to  Margaret's  secret  satisfaction,  Giles  had  the 
new  vicar  cried  in  Eotterdam,  and  the  neighboring 
towns.  He  easily  persuaded  Margaret  that,  in  a  day  or 
two,  Gerard  would  be  sure  to  hear,  and  come  to  his 
benefice.  She  went  to  look  at  his  manse,  and  thought 
how  comfortable  it  might  be  made  for  him,  and  how 
dearly  she  should  love  to  do  it. 

But  the  days  rolled  on,  and  Gerard  came  neither  to 
Eotterdam  nor  Gouda.  Giles  was  mortified,  Margaret 
indignant,  and  very  wretched.  She  said  to  herself, 
"  Thinking  me  dead,  he  comes  home,  and  now,  because 
I  am  alive,  he  goes  back  to  Italy :  for  that  is  where  he 
has  gone." 

Joan  advised  her  to  consult  the  hermit  of  Gouda. 

"  Why  sure  he  is  dead  by  this  time." 

"  Yon  one,  belike.  But  the  cave  is  never  long  void ; 
Gouda  ne'er  wants  a  hermit." 

But  Margaret  declined  to  go  again  to  Gouda  on  such 
an  errand.  "  What  can  he  know,  shut  up  in  a  cave  ? 
less  than  I,  belike.  Gerard  hath  gone  back  t'  Italy. 
He  hates  me  for  not  being  dead." 

Presently  a  Tergovian  came  in  with  a  word  from 
Catherine  that  Ghysbrecht  Van  Swieten  had  seen 
Gerard  later  than  any  one  else.  On  this  Margaret 
determined  to  go  and  see  the  house  and  goods  that 
had  been  left  her,  and  take  Eeicht  Heynes  home  to 


372  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


Rotterdam.  And,  as  may  be  supposed,  her  steps  took 
her  first  to  Ghysbrecht's  house.  She  found  him  in  his 
garden,  seated  in  a  chair  with  wheels.  He  greeted  her 
with  a  feeble  voice,  but  cordially ;  and  when  she  asked 
him  whether  it  was  true  he  had  seen  Gerard  since  the 
fifth  of  August,  he  replied,  "  Gerard  no  more,  but  Friar 
Clement.  Ay,  I  saw  him;  and  blessed  be  the  day  he 
entered  my  house." 

He  then  related  in  his  own  words  his  interview  with 
Clement.  He  told  her  moreover  that  the  friar  had 
afterwards  acknowledged  he  came  to  Tergou  with  the 
missing  deed  in  his  bosom  on  purpose  to  make  him  dis- 
gorge her  land ;  but  that  finding  him  disposed  towards 
penitence,  he  had  gone  to  work  the  other  way. 

"  Was  not  this  a  saint ;  who  came  to  right  thee  ;  but 
must  needs  save  his  enemy's  soul  in  the  doing  it  ?  " 

To  her  question,  whether  he  had  recognized  him,  he 
said,  "  I  ne'er  suspected  such  a  thing.  'Twas  only  when 
he  had  been  three  days  with  me  that  he  revealed  him- 
self.   Listen  while  I  speak  my  shame  and  his  praise. 

"I  said  to  him,  'The  land  is  gone  home,  and  my 
stomach  feels  lighter;  but  there  is  another  fault  that 
clingeth  to  me  still ; '  then  told  I  him  of  the  letter  I  had 
writ  at  request  of  his  brethren,  I  whose  place  it  was  to 
check  them.  Said  I,  '  Yon  letter  was  writ  to  part  true 
lovers,  and,  the  devil  aiding,  it  hath  done  the  foul  work. 
Land  and  houses  I  can  give  back ;  but  yon  mischief  is 
done  forever.'  — '  Nay,'  quoth  he,  '  not  forever ;  but  for 
life.  Repent  it  then  while  thou  livest.'  — '  I  shall,'  said 
I,  '  but  how  can  God  forgive  it  ?  I  would  not,'  said  I, 
'  were  I  He.' 

" '  Yet  will  He  certainly  forgive  it,'  quoth  he ;  '  for  He 
is  ten  times  more  forgiving  than  I  am;  and  I  forgive 
thee.'  I  stared  at  him;  and  then  he  said  softly,  but 
quavering  like,  'Ghysbrecht,  look  at  me  closer.    I  am 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH/  373 

Gerard  the  son  of  Eli.'  And  I  looked,  and  looked,  and 
at  last,  lo !  it  was  Gerard.  Verily  I  had  fallen  at  his 
feet  with  shame  and  contrition ;  but  he  would  not  suffer 
me.  'That  became  not  mine  years  and  his,  for  a  par- 
ticular fault.  I  say  not  I  forgive  thee  without  a  struggle,' 
said  he,  '  not  being  a  saint.  But  these  three  days,  thou 
hast  spent  in  penitence,  I  have  worn  under  thy  roof  in 
prayer:  and  I  do  forgive  thee.'  Those  were  his  very 
words." 

Margaret's  tears  began  to  flow ;  for  it  was  in  a  broken 
and  contrite  voice  the  old  man  told  her  this  unexpected 
trait  in  her  Gerard.  He  continued,  "  And  even  with  that 
he  bade  me  farewell. 

" 1  My  work  here  is  done  now,'  said  he.  I  had  not  the 
heart  to  stay  him ;  for,  let  him  forgive  me  ever  so,  the 
sight  of  me  must  be  wormwood  to  him.  He  left  me  in 
peace,  and  may  a  dying  man's  blessing  wait  on  him,  go 
where  he  will.  0  girl,  when  I  think  of  his  wrongs,  and 
thine,  and  how  he  hath  avenged  himself  by  saving  this 
stained  soul  of  mine,  my  heart  is  broken  with  remorse, 
and  these  old  eyes  shed  tears  by  night  and  day." 

"  Ghysbrecht,"  said  Margaret,  weeping,  "  since  he  hath 
forgiven  thee,  I  forgive  thee  too ;  what  is  done,  is  done ; 
and  thou  hast  let  me  know  this  day  that  which  I  had 
walked  the  world  to  hear.  But  oh,  burgomaster,  thou 
art  an  understanding  man,  now  help  a  poor  woman, 
which  hath  forgiven  thee  her  misery." 

She  then  told  him  all  that  had  befallen ;  "  And,"  said 
she,  "  they  will  not  keep  the  living  for  him  forever.  He 
bids  fair  to  lose  that,  as  well  as  break  all  our  hearts." 

"  Call  my  servant,"  cried  the  burgomaster,  with  sudden 
vigor. 

He  sent  him  for  a  table  and  writing  materials,  and  dic- 
tated letters  to  the  burgomasters  in  all  the  principal  towns 
in  Holland,  and  one  to  a  Prussian  authority,  his  friend. 


374 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


His  clerk  and  Margaret  wrote  them,  and  he  signed  them. 
"There,"  said  he,  "the  matter  shall  be  despatched  through- 
out Holland  by  trusty  couriers,  and  as  far  as  Basle  in 
Switzerland ;  and  fear  not,  but  we  will  soon  have  the 
Vicar  of  Gouda  to  his  village." 

She  went  home  animated  with  fresh  hopes,  and  accus- 
ing herself  of  ingratitude  to  Gerard.  "I  value  my  wealth 
now,"  said  she. 

She  also  made  a  resolution  never  to  blame  his  conduct 
till  she  should  hear  from  his  own  lips  his  reasons. 

Not  long  after  her  return  from  Tergou,  a  fresh  disaster 
befell.  Catherine,  I  must  premise,  had  secret  interviews 
with  the  black  sheep,  the  very  day  after  they  were 
expelled;  and  Cornelis  followed  her  to  Tergou,  and  lived 
there  on  secret  contributions;  but  Sybrandt  chose  to 
remain  in  Kotterdam.  Ere  Catherine  left,  she  asked 
Margaret  to  lend  her  two  gold  angels ;  "  For,"  said  she, 
"  all  mine  are  spent."  Margaret  was  delighted  to  lend 
them  or  give  them ;  but  the  words  were  scarce  out  of  her 
mouth,  ere  she  caught  a  look  of  regret  and  distress  on 
Kate's  face,  and  she  saw  directly  whither  her  money  was 
going.  She  gave  Catherine  the  money,  and  went  and 
shut  herself  up  with  her  boy.  Now  this  money  was  to 
last  Sybrandt  till  his  mother  could  make  some  good 
excuse  for  visiting  Rotterdam  again;  and  then  she  would 
bring  the  idle  dog  some  of  her  own  industrious  scrapings. 

But  Sybrandt,  having  gold  in  his  pocket,  thought  it  inex- 
haustible ;  and,  being  now  under  no  shadow  of  restraint, 
led  the  life  of  a  complete  sot ;  until  one  afternoon,  in  a 
drunken  frolic,  he  climbed  on  the  roof  of  the  stable  at 
the  inn  he  was  carousing  in;  and  proceeded  to  walk  along 
it,  a  feat  he  had  performed  many  times  when  sober.  But 
now  his  unsteady  brain  made  his  legs  unsteady,  and  he 
rolled  down  the  roof  and  fell  with  a  loud  thwack  on  to 
a  horizontal  paling,  where  he  hung  a  moment  in  a  semi- 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  375 


circle,  then  toppled  over  and  lay  silent  on  the  ground, 
amidst  roars  of  laughter  from  his  boon  companions. 

When  they  came  to  pick  him  up  he  could  not  stand, 
but  fell  down  giggling  at  each  attempt. 

On  this  they  went  staggering  and  roaring  down  the 
street  with  him,  and  carried  him  at  great  risk  of  another 
fall,  to  the  shop  in  the  Hoog  Straet.  For  he  had  babbled 
his  own  shame  all  over  the  place. 

As  soon  as  he  saw  Margaret  he  hiccuped  out,  "  Here 
is  the  doctor  that  cures  all  hurts ;  a  bonny  lass."  He 
also  bade  her  observe  he  bore  her  no  malice,  for  he  was 
paying  her  a  visit,  sore  against  his  will.  "Wherefore, 
prithee  send  away  these  drunkards;  and  let  you  and  me 
have  t'other  glass,  to  drown  all  unkindness." 

All  this  time  Margaret  was  pale  and  red  by  turns  at 
sight  of  her  enemy  and  at  his  insolence.  But  one  of  the 
men  whispered  what  had  happened,  and  a  streaky  some- 
thing in  Sybrandt's  face  arrested  her  attention. 

"  And  he  cannot  stand  up,  say  you  ?  " 

"  A  couldn't  just  now.  Try,  comrade !  Be  a  man 
now ! " 

"I  am  a  better  man  than  thou,"  roared  Sybrandt. 
"  I'll  stand  up  and  fight  ye  all  for  a  crown." 

He  started  to  his  feet,  and  instantly  rolled  into  his 
attendant's  arms  with  a  piteous  groan.  He  then  began  to 
curse  his  boon  companions,  and  declare  they  had  stolen 
away  his  legs.    "  He  could  feel  nothing  below  the  waist." 

"  Alas,  poor  wretch,"  said  Margaret.  She  turned  very 
gravely  to  the  men,  and  said,  "  Leave  him  here.  And  if 
you  have  brought  him  to  this,  go  on  your  knees ;  for  you 
have  spoiled  him  for  life.  He  will  never  walk  again: 
his  back  is  broken." 

The  drunken  man  caught  these  words,  and  the  foolish 
look  of  intoxication  fled,  and  a  glare  of  anguish  took  its 
place.    "  The  curse,"  he  groaned,  "  the  curse  ! " 


376  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


Margaret  and  Reicht  Heynes  carried  him  carefully, 
and  laid  him  on  the  softest  bed. 

"I  must  do  as  he  would  do,"  whispered  Margaret. 
"  He  was  kind  to  Ghysbrecht." 

Her  opinion  was  verified.  Sybrandt's  spine  was  fatally 
injured ;  and  he  lay  groaning  and  helpless,  fed  and  tended 
by  her  he  had  so  deeply  injured. 

The  news  was  sent  to  Tergou;  and  Catherine  came 
over. 

It  was  a  terrible  blow  to  her.  Moreover  she  accused 
herself  as  the  cause.  "O  false  wife,  0  weak  mother," 
she  cried.  "  I  am  rightly  punished  for  my  treason  to  my 
poor  Eli." 

She  sat  for  hours  at  a  time  by  his  bedside  rocking  her- 
self in  silence,  and  was  never  quite  herself  again ;  and 
the  first  gray  hairs  began  to  come  in  her  poor  head  from 
that  hour. 

As  for  Sybrandt,  all  his  cry  was  now  for  Gerard.  He 
used  to  whine  to  Margaret  like  a  suffering  hound,  "  0 
sweet  Margaret,  0  bonny  Margaret,  for  our  Lady's  sake 
find  Gerard,  and  bid  him  take  his  curse  off  me.  Thou 
art  gentle,  thou  art  good ;  thou  wilt  entreat  for  me,  and 
he  will  refuse  thee  nought."  Catherine  shared  his  belief 
that  Gerard  could  cure  him,  and  joined  her  entreaties  to 
his.  Margaret  hardly  needed  this.  The  burgomaster 
and  his  agents  having  failed,  she  employed  her  own,  and 
spent  money  like  water.  And  among  these  agents  poor 
Luke  enrolled  himself.  She  met  him  one  day  looking 
very  thin,  and  spoke  to  him  compassionately.  On  this 
he  began  to  blubber,  and  say  he  was  more  miserable  than 
ever ;  he  would  like  to  be  good  friends  again  upon  almost 
any  terms. 

"Dear  heart,"  said  Margaret,  sorrowfully,  "why  can 
you  not  say  to  yourself,  Now  I  am  her  little  brother,  and 
she  is  my  old  married  sister,  worn  down  with  care  ?  Say 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


377 


so,  and  I  will  indulge  thee,  and  pet  thee,  and  make  thee 
happier  than  a  prince." 

"  Well,  I  will,"  said  Luke,  savagely,  "  sooner  than  keep 
away  from  you  altogether.  But  above  all  give  me  some- 
thing to  do.  Perchance  I  may  have  better  luck  this 
time." 

"Get  me  my  marriage  lines,"  said  Margaret,  turning 
sad  and  gloomy  in  a  moment. 

"  That  is  •  as  much  as  to  say,  get  me  him !  for  where 
they  are,  he  is." 

"  Not  so.  He  may  refuse  to  come  nigh  me ;  but  certes 
he  will  not  deny  a  poor  woman,  who  loved  him  once,  her 
lines  of  betrothal.  How  can  she  go  without  them  into 
any  honest  man's  house  ?  " 

"  I'll  get  them  you  if  they  are  in  Holland,"  said  Luke. 

"  They  are  as  like  to  be  in  Kome,"  replied  Margaret. 

"Let  us  begin  with  Holland,"  observed  Luke,  prudently. 

The  slave  of  love  was  furnished  with  money  by  his 
soft  tyrant,  and  wandered  hither  and  thither,  coopering 
and  carpentering,  and  looking  for  Gerard.  "  I  can't  be 
worse  if  I  find  the  vagabone,"  said  he,  "  and  I  may  be  a 
hantle  better." 

The  months  rolled  on,  and  Sybrandt  improved  in  spirit, 
but  not  in  body ;  he  was  Margaret's  pensioner  for  life ; 
and  a  long-expected  sorrow  fell  upon  poor  Catherine,  and 
left  her  still  more  bowed  down,  and  she  lost  her  fine 
hearty  bustling  way,  and  never  went  about  the  house 
singing  now ;  and  her  nerves  were  shaken,  and  she  lived 
in  dread  of  some  terrible  misfortune  falling  on  Cornells. 
The  curse  was  laid  on  him  as  well  as  Sybrandt. 

She  prayed  Eli,  if  she  had  been  a  faithful  partner  all 
these  years,  to  take  Cornells  into  his  house  again;  and 
let  her  live  awhile  at  Eotterdam. 

"  I  have  good  daughters  here,"  said  she ;  "  but  Margaret 
is  so  tender  and  thoughtful,  and  the  little  Gerard,  he  is 


378  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


my  joy;  lie  grows  liker  his  father  every  day,  and  his 
prattle  cheers  my  heavy  heart ;  and  I  do  love  children." 

And  Eli,  sturdy  but  kindly,  consented  sorrowfully. 

And  the  people  of  Gouda  petitioned  the  duke  for  a 
vicar,  a  real  vicar.  "  Ours  cometh  never  nigh  us,"  said 
they,  "  this  six  months  past ;  our  children  they  die  un- 
christened,  and  our  folk  unburied,  except  by  some  chance 
comer."  Giles's  influence  baffled  this  just  complaint 
once ;  but  a  second  petition  was  prepared,  and  he  gave 
Margaret  little  hope  that  the  present  position  could  be 
maintained  a  single  day. 

So  then  Margaret  went  sorrowfully  to  the  pretty  manse 
to  see  it  for  the  last  time,  ere  it  should  pass  forever  into 
a  stranger's  hands. 

"  I  think  he  would  have  been  happy  here,"  she  said, 
and  turned  heartsick  away. 

On  their  return,  Eeicht  Heynes  proposed  to  her  to  go 
and  consult  the  hermit. 

"  What,"  said  Margaret,  "  Joan  has  been  at  you.  She 
is  the  one  for  hermits.  I'll  go,  if  'tis  but  to  show  thee 
they  know  no  more  than  we  do."  And  they  went  to  the 
cave. 

It  was  an  excavation  partly  natural,  partly  artificial, 
in  a  bank  of  rock  overgrown  by  brambles.  There  was  a 
rough  stone  door  on  hinges,  and  a  little  window  high  up, 
and  two  apertures,  through  one  of  which  the  people 
announced  their  gifts  to  the  hermit,  and  put  questions 
of  all  sorts  to  him ;  and,  when  he  chose  to  answer,  his 
voice  came  dissonant  and  monstrous  out  at  another  small 
aperture. 

On  the  face  of  the  rock  this  line  was  cut :  — 

Felix  qui  in  Domino  nixus  ab  orbe  fugit. 

Margaret  observed  to  her  companion  that  this  was  new 
since  she  was  here  last. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  379 


*  Ay,"  said  Reicht,  "like  enough,"  and  looked  up  at  it 
with  awe.  Writing  even  on  paper  she  thought  no  trifle ; 
but  on  rock ! 

She  whispered,  "  'Tis  a  far  holier  hermit  than  the  last ; 
he  used  to  come  in  the  town  now  and  then ;  but  this  one 
ne'er  shows  his  face  to  mortal  man." 

"  And  that  is  holiness  ?  " 

"Ay,  sure." 

"  Then  what  a  saint  a  dormouse  must  be ! " 

"Out,  fie,  mistress.  Would  ye  even  a  beast  to  a  man  ?  " 

"Come,  Keicht,"  said  Margaret,  "my  poor  father  taught 
me  overmuch.  So  I  will  e'en  sit  here,  and  look  at  the 
manse  once  more.  Go  thou  forward  and  question  thy 
solitary,  and  tell  me  whether  ye  get  nought  or  nonsense 
out  of  him  ;  for  'twill  be  one." 

As  Reicht  drew  near  the  cave,  a  number  of  birds  flew 
out  of  it.  She  gave  a  little  scream,  and  pointed  to  the 
cave  to  show  Margaret  they  had  come  thence.  On  this 
Margaret  felt  sure  there  was  no  human  being  in  the  cave, 
and  gave  the  matter  no  further  attention.  She  fell  into 
a  deep  reverie  while  looking  at  the  little  manse. 

She  was  startled  from  it  by  Reicht's  hand  upon  her 
shoulder,  and  a  faint  voice  saying,  "  Let  us  go  home." 

"You  got  no  answer  at  all,  Reicht,"  said  Margaret, 
calmly. 

"No,  Margaret,"  said  Reicht,  despondently.  And 
they  returned  home. 

Perhaps  after  all  Margaret  had  nourished  some  faint 
secret  hope  in  her  heart,  though  her  reason  had  rejected 
it;  for  she  certainly  went  home  more  dejectedly. 

Just  as  they  entered  Rotterdam,  Reicht  said,  "  Stay ! 
0  Margaret,  I  am  ill  at  deceit ;  but  'tis  death  to  utter  ill 
news  to  thee ;  I  love  thee  so  dear." 

"Speak  out,  sweetheart,"  said  Margaret.  "I  have 
gone  through  so  much,  I  am  almost  past  feeling  any 
fresh  trouble." 


380  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  Margaret,  the  hermit  did  speak  to  me." 

"  What,  a  hermit  there  ?  among  all  those  birds." 

"  Ay  ;  and  doth  not  that  show  him  a  holy  man  ?  99 

"  V  God's  name,  what  said  he  to  thee,  Keicht  ? 99 

"  Alas  !  Margaret,  I  told  him  thy  story,  and  I  prayed 

him  for  our  Lady's  sake,  tell  me  where  thy  Gerard  is. 

And  I  waited  long  for  an  answer,  and  presently  a  voice 

came  like  a  trumpet :  '  Pray  for  the  soul  of  Gerard,  the 

son  of  Eli ! 9  99 
«  Ah ! " 

"  Oh,  woe  is  me  that  I  have  this  to  tell  thee,  sweet 
Margaret !  bethink  thee  thou  hast  thy  boy  to  live  for 
yet." 

"  Let  me  get  home,"  said  Margaret  faintly. 
Passing  down  the  Brede  Kirk  Straet  they  saw  Joan 
at  the  door. 

Reicht  said  to  her,  "  Eh,  woman,  she  has  been  to  your 
hermit,  and  heard  no  good  news." 

"  Come  in,"  said  Joan,  eager  for  a  gossip. 

Margaret  would  not  go  in.  But  she  sat  down  discon- 
solate on  the  lowest  step  but  one  of  the  little  external 
staircase  that  led  into  Joan's  house;  and  let  the  other 
two  gossip  their  fill  at  the  top  of  it. 

"  Oh,"  said  Joan,  "  what  yon  hermit  says  is  sure  to  be 
sooth.  He  is  that  holy,  I  am  told,  that  the  very  birds 
consort  with  him." 

"  What  does  that  prove  ?  "  said  Margaret,  deprecat- 
ingly.  "  I  have  seen  my  Gerard  tame  the  birds  in  winter 
till  they  would  eat  from  his  hand." 

A  look  of  pity  at  this  parallel  passed  between  the 
other  two.  But  they  were  both  too  fond  of  her  to  say 
what  they  thought.  Joan  proceeded  to  relate  all  the 
marvellous  tales  she  had  heard  of  this  hermit's  sanctity. 
How  he  never  came  out  but  at  night,  and  prayed  among 
the  wolves,  and  they  never  molested  him :  and  how  he 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  381 


bade  the  people  not  bring  him  so  much  food  to  pamper 
his  body,  but  to  bring  him  candles. 

"  The  candles  are  to  burn  before  his  saint,"  whispered 
Keicht  solemnly. 

"  Ay,  lass  ;  and  to  read  his  holy  books  wi\  A  neigh- 
bor o'  mine  saw  his  hand  come  out,  and  the  birds  sat 
thereon  and  pecked  crumbs.  She  went  for  to  kiss  it ; 
but  the  holy  man  whippit  it  away  in  a  trice.  They  can't 
abide  a  woman  to  touch  'em,  or  even  look  at  'em,  saints 
can't." 

"  What  like  was  his  hand,  wife  ?    Did  you  ask  her  ?  " 

"  What  is  my  tongue  for,  else  ?  Why,  dear  heart,  all 
one  as  ourn ;  by  the  same  token  a  had  a  thumb  and  four 
fingers." 

"  Look  ye  there  now." 

"  But  a  deal  whiter  nor  yourn  and  mine." 

"Ay,  ay." 

"And  main  skinny." 
"Alas." 

"  What  could  ye  expect  ?  Why,  a  live  upon  air,  and 
prayer :  and  candles." 

"Ah,  well,"  continued  Joan,  "poor  thing,  I  whiles 
think  'tis  best  for  her  to  know  the  worst.  And  now  she 
hath  gotten  a  voice  from  heaven,  or  almost  as  good  :  and 
behooves  her  pray  for  his  soul.  One  thing,  she  is  not  so 
poor  now  as  she  was ;  and  never  fell  riches  to  a  better 
hand ;  and  she  is  only  come  into  her  own  for  that  mat- 
ter :  so  she  can  pay  the  priest  to  say  masses  for  him, 
and  that  is  a  great  comfort." 

In  the  midst  of  their  gossip,  Margaret,  in  whose  ears 
it  was  all  buzzing,  though  she  seemed  lost  in  thought, 
got  softly  up;  and  crept  away  with  her  eyes  on  the 
ground,  and  her  brows  bent. 

"  She  hath  forgotten  I  am  with  her,"  said  Keicht 
Heynes  ruefully. 


382  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


She  had  her  gossip  out  with  Joan,  and  then  went 
home. 

She  found  Margaret  seated  cutting  out  a  pelisse  of 
gray  cloth,  and  a  cape  to  match.  Little  Gerard  was 
standing  at  her  side,  inside  her  left  arm,  eying  the  work, 
and  making  it  more  difficult  by  wriggling  about,  and  fin- 
gering the  arm  with  which  she  held  the  cloth  steady ;  to 
all  which  she  submitted  with  imperturbable  patience 
and  complacency.  Fancy  a  male  workman  so  entangled, 
impeded,  worried ! 

"  Ot's  that,  mammy  ?  " 

"  A  pelisse,  my  pet." 

"  Ot's  a  p'lisse  ?  " 

"  A  great  frock.    And  this  is  the  cape  to't." 
"  Ot's  it  for  ?  " 

"  To  keep  his  body  from  the  cold ;  and  the  cape  is  for 
his  shoulders,  or  to  go  over  his  head  like  the  country 
folk.    'Tis  for  a  hermit." 

"  Ot's  a  'ermit?" 

11  A  holy  man  that  lives  in  a  cave  all  by  himself." 
"  In  de  dark  ?  " 
"  Ay,  whiles." 
"Oh." 

In  the  morning  Eeicht  was  sent  to  the  hermit  with 
the  pelisse,  and  a  pound  of  thick  candles. 

As  she  was  going  out  of  the  door,  Margaret  said  to  her, 
"  Said  you  whose  son  Gerard  was  ?  " 

"  Nay,  not  I." 

"  Think,  girl !  How  could  he  call  him,  Gerard,  son  of 
Eli,  if  you  had  not  told  him  ?  " 

Eeicht  persisted  she  had  never  mentioned  him  but  as 
plain  Gerard.  But  Margaret  told  her  flatly  she  did  not 
believe  her;  at  which  Eeicht  was  affronted,  and  went 
out  with  a  little  toss  of  the  head.  However  she  deter- 
mined to  question  the  hermit  again,  and  did  not  doubt 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  383 


he  would  be  more  iiberal  in  his  communication,  when  he 
saw  his  nice  new  pelisse  and  the  candles. 

She  had  not  been  gone  long  when  Giles  came  in  with 
ill  news.  The  living  of  Gouda  would  be  kept  vacant  no 
longer. 

Margaret  was  greatly  distressed  at  this.  "  0  Giles," 
said  she,  "  ask  for  another  month.  They  will  give  thee 
another  month,  maybe." 

He  returned  in  an  hour  to  tell  her  he  could  not  get  a 
month.  "  They  have  given  me  a  week,"  said  he.  "  And 
what  is  a  week  ?  " 

"  Drowning  bodies  catch  at  strawen,"  was  her  reply. 
"  A  week  ?  a  little  week  ?  " 

Eeicht  came  back  from  her  errand  out  of  spirits.  Her 
oracle  had  declined  all  further  communication.  So  at 
least  its  obstinate  silence  might  fairly  be  interpreted. 

The  next  day  Margaret  put  Eeicht  in  charge  of  the 
shop,  and  disappeared  all  day.  So  the  next  day  ;  and  so 
the  next.  Nor  would  she  tell  any  one  where  she  had 
been.  Perhaps  she  was  ashamed.  The  fact  is,  she  spent 
?J1  those  days  on  one  little  spot  of  ground.  When  they 
thought  her  dreaming,  she  was  applying  to  every  word 
that  fell  from  Joan  and  Eeicht  the  whole  powers  of  a 
far  acuter  mind  than  either  of  them  possessed. 

She  went  to  work  on  a  scale  that  never  occurred  to 
either  of  them.  She  was  determined  to  see  the  hermit, 
and  question  him  face  to  face,  not  through  a  wall.  She 
found  that  by  making  a  circuit  she  could  get  above  the 
cave,  and  look  down  without  being  seen  by  the  solitary. 
But  when  she  came  to  do  it,  she  found  an  impenetrable 
mass  of  brambles.  After  tearing  her  clothes,  and  her 
hands  and  feet,  so  that  she  was  soon  covered  with  blood, 
the  resolute,  patient  girl  took  out  her  scissors  and  steadily 
snipped  and  cut  till  she  made  a  narrow  path  through  the 
enemy.    But  so  slow  was  the  work,  that  she  had  to  leave 


384  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


it  half  done.  The  next  day  she  had  her  scissors  fresh 
ground,  and  brought  a  sharp  knife  as  well ;  and  gently, 
silently,  cut  her  way  to  the  roof  of  the  cave.  There 
she  made  an  ambush  of  some  of  the  cut  brambles,  so 
that  the  passers-by  might  not  see  her,  and  couched  with 
watchful  eye  till  the  hermit  should  come  out.  She  heard 
him  move  underneath  her.  But  he  never  left  his  cell. 
She  began  to  think  it  was  true  that  he  only  came  out  at 
night.  The  next  day  she  came  early,  and  brought  a 
jerkin  she  was  making  for  little  Gerard,  and  there  she 
sat  all  day,  working  and  watching  with  dogged  patience. 

At  four  o'clock  the  birds  began  to  feed ;  and  a  great 
many  of  the  smaller  kinds  came  fluttering  round  the 
cave,  and  one  or  two  went  in.  But  most  of  them,  taking 
a  preliminary  seat  on  the  bushes,  suddenly  discovered 
Margaret,  and  went  off  with  an  agitated  flirt  of  their 
little  wings.  And  although  they  sailed  about  in  the  air, 
they  would  not  enter  the  cave.  Presently,  to  encourage 
them,  the  hermit,  all  unconscious  of  the  cause  of  their 
tremors,  put  out  a  thin  white  hand  with  a  few  crumbs  in 
it,  Margaret  laid  down  her  work  softly,  and  gliding  her 
body  forward  like  a  snake,  looked  down  at  it  from  above  : 
it  was  but  a  few  feet  from  her.  It  was  as  the  woman 
described  it,  a  thin,  white  hand. 

Presently  the  other  hand  came  out  with  a  piece  of 
bread,  and  the  two  hands  together  broke  it  and  scattered 
the  crumbs. 

But  that  other  hand  had  hardly  been  out  two  seconds 
ere  the  violet  eyes  that  were  watching  above,  dilated ; 
and  the  gentle  bosom  heaved,  and  the  whole  frame  quiv- 
ered like  a  leaf  in  the  wind. 

What  her  swift  eye  had  seen,  I  leave  the  reader  to 
guess.  She  suppressed  the  scream  that  rose  to  her  lips; 
but  the  effort  cost  her  dear.  Soon  the  left  hand  of  the 
hermit  began  to  swim  indistinctly  before  her  gloating- 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  385 


eyes :  and  with  a  deep  sigh  her  head  drooped,  and  she 
lay  like  a  broken  lily. 

She  was  in  a  deep  swoon,  to  which  perhaps  her  long 
fast  to-day,  and  the  agitation  and  sleeplessness  of  many 
preceding  days  contributed. 

And  there  lay  beauty,  intelligence,  and  constancy: 
pale  and  silent.  And  little  that  hermit  guessed  who 
was  so  near  him.  The  little  birds  hopped  on  her  now : 
and  one  nearly  entangled  his  little  feet  in  her  rich  auburn 
hair. 

She  came  back  to  her  troubles.  The  sun  was  set.  She 
was  very  cold.  She  cried  a  little  ;  but  I  think  it  was 
partly  from  the  remains  of  physical  weakness.  And 
then  she  went  home,  praying  God  and  the  saints  to 
enlighten  her  and  teach  her  what  to  do  for  the  best. 

When  she  got  home  she  was  pale  and  hysterical,  and 
would  say  nothing  in  answer  to  all  their  questions  but 
her  favorite  word,  "  We  are  wading  in  deep  waters." 

The  night  seemed  to  have  done  wonders  for  her. 

She  came  to  Catherine,  who  was  sitting  sighing  by  the 
fireside,  and  kissed  her,  and  said,  "  Mother,  what  would 
you  like  best  in  the  world  ?  " 

"Eh,  dear,"  replied  Catherine,  despondently.  "I 
know  nought  that  would  make  me  smile  now ;  I  have 
parted  from  too  many  that  were  dear  to  me.  Gerard 
lost  again  as  soon  as  found.  Kate  in  heaven;  and 
Sybrandt  down  for  life." 

"Poor  mother!  Mother  dear,  Gouda  manse  is  to  be 
furnished,  and  cleaned,  and  made  ready  all  in  a  hurry. 
See,  here  be  ten  gold  angels.  Make  them  go  far,  good 
mother ;  for  I  have  ta'en  over  many  already  from  my 
boy,  for  a  set  of  useless  loons  that  were  aye  going  to  find 
him  for  me." 

Catherine  and  Eeicht  stared  at  her  a  moment  in 
silence  ;  and  then  out  burst  a  flood  of  questions,  to  none 


386 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


of  which  would  she  give  a  reply.  "  Nay,"  said  she,  "  1 
have  lain  on  rny  bed,  and  thought,  and  thought,  and 
thought,  whiles  you  were  all  sleeping ;  and  methinks  I 
have  got  the  clew  to  all.  I  love  you,  dear  mother ;  but 
I'll  trust  no  woman's  tongue.  If  I  fail  this  time,  I'll 
have  none  to  blame  but  Margaret  Brandt." 

A  resolute  woman  is  a  very  resolute  thing.  And  there 
was  a  deep,  dogged  determination  in  Margaret's  voice 
and  brow,  that  at  once  convinced  Catherine  it  would  be 
idle  to  put  any  more  questions  at  that  time.  She  and 
Reicht  lost  themselves  in  conjectures ;  and  Catherine 
whispered  Reicht,  "  Bide  quiet ;  then  'twill  leak  out ; " 
a  shrewd  piece  of  advice,  founded  on  general  observation. 

Within  an  hour  Catherine  was  on  the  road  to  Gouda 
in  a  cart,  with  two  stout  girls  to  help  her,  and  quite  a 
siege  artillery  of  mops,  and  pails,  and  brushes.  She 
came  back  with  heightened  color,  and  something  of  the 
old  sparkle  in  her  eye,  and  kissed  Margaret  with  a  silent 
warmth  that  spoke  volumes  ;  and  at  five  in  the  morning 
was  off  again  to  Gouda. 

That  night  as  Reicht  was  in  her  first  sleep,  a  hand 
gently  pressed  her  shoulder,  and  she  awoke,  and  was 
going  to  scream. 

"Whisht,"  said  Margaret,  and  put  her  finger  to  her 
lips. 

She  then  whispered,  "  Rise  softly,  don  thy  habits,  and 
come  with  me  !  " 

When  she  came  down,  Margaret  begged  her  to  loose 
Dragon  and  bring  him  along.  Now  Dragon  was  a  great 
mastiff,  who  had  guarded  Margaret  Van  Eyck  and 
Reicht,  two  lone  women,  for  some  years,  and  was  de- 
votedly attached  to  the  latter. 

Margaret  and  Reicht  went  out,  with  Dragon  walking 
majestically  behind  them.  They  came  back  long  after 
midnight,  and  retired  to  rest. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  387 


Catherine  never  knew. 

Margaret  read  her  friends.  She  saw  the  sturdy, 
faithful  Frisian  could  hold  her  tongue,  and  Catherine 
could  not.  Yet  I  am  not  sure  she  would  have  trusted 
even  Eeicht,  had  her  nerve  equalled  her  spirit ;  but  with 
all  her  daring  and  resolution,  she  was  a  tender,  timid 
woman,  a  little  afraid  of  the  dark,  very  afraid  of  being 
alone  in  it,  and  desperately  afraid  of  wolves.  Now 
Dragon  could  kill  a  wolf  in  a  brace  of  shakes ;  but  then 
Dragon  would  not  go  with  her,  but  only  with  Eeicht. 
So  altogether  she  made  one  confidante. 

The  next  night  they  made  another  moonlight  recon- 
noissance,  and,  as  I  think,  with  some  result.  For  not 
the  next  night  (it.  rained  that  night  and  extinguished 
their  courage),  but  the  next  after,  they  took  with  them 
a  companion ;  the  last  in  the  world  Eeicht  Heynes 
would  have  thought  of ;  yet  she  gave  her  warm  approval 
as  soon  as  she  was  told  he  was  to  go  with  them. 

Imagine  how  these  stealthy  assailants  trembled  and 
panted,  when  the  moment  of  action  came;  imagine,  if 
you  can,  the  tumult  in  Margaret's  breast,  the  thrilling 
hopes  chasing,  and  chased  by,  sickening  fears ;  the 
strange  and  perhaps  unparalleled  mixture  of  tender 
familiarity  and  distant  awe,  with  which  a  lovely  and 
high-spirited,  but  tender,  adoring  woman,  wife  in  the 
eye  of  the  law,  and  no  wife  in  the  eye  of  the  Church, 
trembling,  blushing,  paling,  glowing,  shivering,  stole  at 
night,  noiseless  as  the  dew,  upon  the  hermit  of  Gouda. 

And  the  stars  above  seemed  never  so  bright  and  calm. 


388 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

Yes,  the  hermit  of  Gouda  was  the  vicar  of  Gouda,  and 
knew  it  not,  so  absolute  was  his  seclusion. 

My  reader  is  aware  that  the  moment  the  frenzy  of  his 
passion  passed,  he  was  seized  with  remorse  for  having 
been  betrayed  into  it.  But  perhaps  only  those  who  have 
risen  as  high  in  religious  spirit  as  he  had,  and  suddenly 
fallen,  can  realize  the  terror  at  himself  that  took  posses- 
sion of  him.  He  felt  like  one  whom  self-confidence  had 
betrayed  to  the  very  edge  of  a  precipice.  "Ah,  good 
Jerome,"  he  cried,  "  how  much  better  you  knew  me  than 
I  knew  myself !  How  bitter  yet  wholesome  was  your 
admonition ! " 

Accustomed  to  search  his  own  heart,  he  saw  at  once 
that  the  true  cause  of  his  fury  was  Margaret.  u  I  love 
her,  then,  better  than  God,"  said  he,  despairingly; 
"better  than  the  Church.  From  such  a  love  what  can 
spring  to  me,  or  to  her  ?  "  He  shuddered  at  the  thought. 
"  Let  the  strong  battle  temptation ;  'tis  for  the  weak  to 
flee.  And  who  is  weaker  than  I  have  shown  myself  ? 
What  is  my  penitence,  my  religion  ?  A  pack  of  cards 
built  by  degrees  into  a  fair-seeming  structure ;  and,  lo ! 
one  breath  of  earthly  love,  and  it  lies  in  the  dust.  I 
must  begin  again,  and  on  a  surer  foundation."  He 
resolved  to  leave  Holland  at  once,  and  spend  years  of 
his  life  in  some  distant  convent  before  returning  to  it. 
By  that  time  the  temptations  of  earthly  passion  would 
be  doubly  baffled ;  an  older  and  a  better  monk,  he  should 
be  more  master  of  his  earthly  affections,  and  Margaret, 
seeing  herself  abandoned,  would  marry,  and  love  another. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  389 


The  very  anguish  this  last  thought  cost  him  showed  the 
self-searcher  and  self-denier,  that  he  was  on  the  path  of 
religious  duty. 

But  in  leaving  her  for  his  immortal  good  and  hers,  he 
was  not  to  neglect  her  temporal  weal.  Indeed,  the  sweet 
thought,  he  could  make  her  comfortable  for  life,  and  rich 
in  this  world's  goods,  which  she  was  not  bound  to 
despise,  sustained  him  in  the  bitter  struggle  it  cost  him 
to  turn  his  back  on  her  without  one  kind  word  or  look. 
"  Oh,  what  will  she  think  of  me  ?  "  he  groaned.  "  Shall 
I  not  seem  to  her  of  all  creatures  the  most  heartless, 
inhuman  ?  but  so  best ;  ay,  better  she  should  hate  me, 
miserable  that  I  am.  Heaven  is  merciful,  and  giveth 
my  broken  heart  this  comfort ;  I  can  make  that  villain 
restore  her  own,  and  she  shall  never  lose  another  true 
lover  by  poverty.  Another  ?  Ah  me  !  ah  me  !  God  and 
the  saints  to  mine  aid  !  " 

How  he  fared  on  this  errand  has  been  related.  But 
first,  as  you  may  perhaps  remember,  he  went  at  night  to 
shrive  the  hermit  of  Gouda.  He  found  him  dying,  and 
never  left  him  till  he  had  closed  his  eyes  and  buried  him 
beneath  the  floor  of  the  little  oratory  attached  to  his  cell. 
It  was  the  peaceful  end  of  a  stormy  life.  The  hermit 
had  been  a  soldier,  and  even  now  carried  a  steel  corselet 
next  his  skin,  saying  he  was  now  Christ's  soldier  as  he 
had  been  Satan's.  When  Clement  had  shriven  him  and 
prayed  by  him,  he,  in  his  turn,  sought  counsel  of  one 
who  was  dying  in  so  pious  a  frame.  The  hermit  advised 
him  to  be  his  successor  in  this  peaceful  retreat.  "  His 
had  been  a  hard  fight  against  the  world,  the  flesh,  and 
the  devil,  and  he  had  never  thoroughly  baffled  them  till 
he  retired  into  the  citadel  of  Solitude." 

These  words  and  the  hermit's  pious  and  peaceful 
death,  which  speedily  followed,  and  set  as  it  were  the 
seal  of  immortal  truth  on  them,  made  a  deep  impression 


390  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

upon  Clement.  Nor  in  his  case  had  they  any  prejudice 
to  combat;  the  solitary  recluse  was  still  profoundly 
revered  in  the  Church,  whether  immured  as  an  anchorite, 
or  anchoress,  in  some  cave  or  cell  belonging  to  a  monas- 
tery, or  hidden  in  the  more  savage  but  laxer  seclusion  of 
the  independent  hermitage.  And  Clement  knew  more 
about  the  hermits  of  the  Church  than  most  divines  at 
his  time  of  life  ;  he  had  read  much  thereon  at  the  monas- 
tery near  Tergou ;  had  devoured  their  lives  with  wonder 
and  delight  in  the  manuscripts  of  the  Vatican,  and  con- 
versed earnestly  about  them  with  the  mendicant  friars 
of  several  nations.  Before  printing,  these  friars  were 
the  great  circulators  of  those  local  annals  and  biographies 
which  accumulated  in  the  convents  of  every  land.  Then 
his  teacher,  Jerome,  had  been  three  years  an  anchorite 
on  the  heights  of  Camaldoli,  where  for  more  than  four 
centuries  the  Thebaid  had  been  revived;  and  Jerome, 
cold  and  curt  on  most  religious  themes,  was  warm  with 
enthusiasm  on  this  one.  He  had  pored  over  the  annals 
of  St.  John  Baptist's  abbey,  round  about  which  the 
hermits'  caves  were  scattered,  and  told  him  the  names 
of  many  a  noble,  and  many  a  famous  warrior,  who  had 
ended  his  days  there  a  hermit,  and  of  many  a  bishop 
and  archbishop  who  had  passed  from  the  see  to  the  her- 
mitage, or  from  the  hermitage  to  the  see.  Among  the 
former  the  archbishop  of  Bavenna;  among  the  latter 
Pope  Victor  the  Ninth.  He  told  him  too,  with  grim 
delight,  of  their  multifarious  austerities,  and  how  each 
hermit  set  himself  to  find  where  he  was  weakest,  and 
attacked  himself  without  mercy  or  remission  till  there, 
even  there,  he  was  strongest.  And  how  seven  times  in 
the  twenty-four  hours,  in  thunder,  rain,  or  snow,  by  day- 
light, twilight,  moonlight,  or  torchlight,  the  solitaries 
flocked  from  distant  points,  over  rugged  precipitous 
ways,  to  worship  in  the  convent  church;  at  matins,  at 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  391 


prime,  tierce,  sexte,  nones,  vespers,  and  complin.  He 
even,  under  eager  questioning,  described  to  him  the 
persons  of  famous  anchorites  he  had  sung  the  Psalter 
and  prayed  with  there ;  the  only  intercourse  their  vows 
allowed,  except  with  special  permission.  Moncata,  Duke 
of  Moncata  and  Cardova,  and  Hidalgo  of  Spain,  who  in 
the  flower  of  his  youth  had  retired  thither  from  the 
pomps,  vanities,  and  pleasures  of  the  world;  Father 
John  Baptist  of  Novara,  who  had  led  armies  to  battle, 
but  was  now  a  private  soldier  of  Christ;  Cornelius, 
Samuel,  and  Sylvanus.  This  last,  when  the  great  Duchess 
deJ  Medici  obtained  the  Pope's  leave,  hitherto  refused, 
to  visit  Camaldoli,  went  down  and  met  her  at  the  first 
wooden  cross,  and  there,  surrounded  as  she  was  with 
courtiers  and  flatterers,  remonstrated  with  her  and  per- 
suaded her,  and  warned  her,  not  to  profane  that  holy 
mountain,  where  no  woman  for  so  many  centuries  had 
placed  her  foot ;  and  she,  awed  by  the  place  and  the  man, 
retreated  with  all  her  captains,  soldiers,  courtiers,  and 
pages,  from  that  one  hoary  hermit.  At  Basle  Clement 
found  fresh  materials,  especially  with  respect  to  German 
and  English  anchorites;  and  he  had  even  prepared  a 
Catena  Eremitarum  from  the  year  of  our  Lord  250,  when 
Paul  of  Thebes  commenced  his  ninety  years  of  solitude, 
down  to  the  year  1470.  He  called  them  Angelorum 
amid  et  animalium,  i.e.,  "Friends  of  Angels  and 
animals." 

Thus,  though  in  those  days  he  never  thought  to  be  a 
recluse,  the  road  was  paved,  so  to  speak ;  and  when  the 
dying  hermit  of  Gouda  blessed  the  citadel  of  Solitude, 
where  lie  had  fought  the  good  fight  and  won  it,  and 
invited  him  to  take  up  the  breastplate  of  faith,  that  now 
fell  off  his  own  shrunken  body,  Clement  said  within 
himself :  "  Heaven  itself  led  my  foot  hither  to  this  end." 
It  struck  him  too,  as  no  small  coincidence,  that  his 


392  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

patron,  St.  Bavon,  was  a  hermit,  and  an  austere  one,  a 
cuirassier  1  of  the  solitary  cell. 

As  soon  as  he  was  reconciled  to  Ghysbrecht  Van 
Swieten,  he  went  eagerly  to  his  new  abode,  praying 
Heaven  it  might  not  have  been  already  occupied  in  these 
three  days.  The  fear  was  not  vain ;  these  famous  dens 
never  wanted  a  human  tenant  long.  He  found  the  rude 
stone  door  ajar;  then  he  made  sure  he  was  too  late;  he 
opened  the  door  and  went  softly  in.  No ;  the  cell  was 
vacant,  and  there  were  the  hermit's  great  ivory  crucifix, 
his  pens,  ink,  seeds,  and  memento  mori,  a  skull ;  his  cilice 
of  hair,  and  another  of  bristles ;  his  well-worn  sheep- 
skin pelisse  and  hood,  his  hammer,  chisel,  and  psaltery, 
etc.  Men  and  women  had  passed  that  way,  but  none 
had  ventured  to  intrude,  far  less  to  steal.  Faith  and 
simplicity  had  guarded  that  keyless  door  more  securely 
than  the  houses  of  the  laity  were  defended  by  their 
gates  like  a  modern  jail,  and  thick  iron  bars  at  every 
window,  and  the  gentry  by  moat,  bastion,  chevaux  de 
frise,  and  portcullis. 

As  soon  as  Clement  was  fairly  in  the  cell  there  was  a 
loud  flap,  and  a  flutter,  and  down  came  a  great  brown 
owl  from  a  corner,  and  whirled  out  of  the  window, 
driving  the  air  cold  on  Clement's  face.  He  started,  and 
shuddered. 

Was  this  seeming  owl  something  diabolical  ?  trying  to 
deter  him  from  his  soul's  good  ?  On  second  thoughts, 
might  it  not  be  some  good  spirit  the  hermit  had 
employed  to  keep  the  cell  for  him,  perhaps  the  hermit 
himself  ?  Finally  he  concluded  that  it  was  just. an  owl; 
and  that  he  would  try  and  make  friends  with  it. 

He  kneeled  down  and  inaugurated  his  new  life  with 
prayer. 

Clement  had  not  only  an  earthly  passion  to  quell,  the 

*  "  Loricatus,"  vide  Ducange,  in  voce. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  393 


power  of  which  made  him  tremble  for  his  eternal  weal, 
but  he  had  a  penance  to  do  for  having  given  way  to  ire, 
his  besetting  sin,  and  cursed  his  own  brothers. 

He  looked  round  this  roomy  cell  furnished  with  so 
many  comforts,  and  compared  it  with  the  pictures  in  his 
mind  of  the  hideous  place,  eremus  in  eremo,  a  desert  in  a 
desert,  where  holy  Jerome,  hermit,  and  the  Plutarch  of 
hermits,  had  wrestled  with  sickness,  temptation,  and 
despair,  four  mortal  years ;  and  with  the  inaccessible 
and  thorny  niche,  a  hole  in  a  precipice,  where  the  boy 
hermit  Benedict  buried  himself,  and  lived  three  years 
on  the  pittance  the  good  monk  Komanus  could  spare  him 
from  his  scanty  commons ;  and  subdivided  that  mouthful 
with  his  friend,  a  raven ;  and  the  hollow  tree  of  his 
patron  St.  Bavon,  and  the  earthly  purgatory  at  Fribourg, 
where  lived  a  nameless  saint  in  a  horrid  cavern,  his  eyes 
chilled  with  perpetual  gloom,  and  his  ears  stunned  with 
an  eternal  waterfall ;  and  the  pillar  on  which  St.  Simeon 
Stylita  existed  forty -five  years,  and  the  destina,  or  stone 
box,  of  St.  Dunstan,  where,  like  Hilarion  in  his  bulrush 
hive,  sepulchro  potius  quam  domu,  he  could  scarce  sit, 
stand,  or  lie ;  and  the  living  tombs,  sealed  with  lead,  of 
Thais,  and  Christina,  and  other  recluses ;  and  the  damp 
dungeon  of  St.  Aired.  These  and  scores  more  of  the 
dismal  dens  in  which  true  hermits  had  worn  out  their 
wasted  bodies  on  the  rock,  and  the  rock  under  their 
sleeping  bodies,  and  their  praying  knees,  all  came  into 
his  mind,  and  he  said  to  himself,  "  This  sweet  retreat  is 
for  safety  of  the  soul ;  but  what  for  penance  ?  Jesu,  aid 
me  against  faults  to  come ;  and  for  the  fault  I  rue,  face 
of  man  I  will  not  see  for  a  twelvemonth  and  a  day." 
He  had  famous  precedents  in  his  eye  even  for  this  last 
and  unusual  severity.  In  fact,  the  original  hermit  of 
this  very  cell  was  clearly  under  the  same  vow.  Hence 
the  two  apertures  through  which  he  was  spoken  to,  and 
replied. 


394  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

Adopting,  in  other  respects,  the  uniform  rule  of  her« 
mits  and  anchorites,  he  divided  his  day  into  the  seven 
offices,  ignoring  the  petty  accidents  of  light  and  dark, 
creations  both  of  Him  to  whom  he  prayed  so  unceas- 
ingly. He  learned  the  Psalter  by  heart,  and  in  all  the 
intervals  of  devotion,  not  occupied  by  broken  slumbers, 
he  worked  hard  with  his  hands.  No  article  of  the 
hermit's  rule  was  more  strict  or  more  ancient  than  this. 
And  here  his  self-imposed  penance  embarrassed  him,  for 
what  work  could  he  do,  without  being  seen,  that  should 
benefit  his  neighbors?  for  the  hermit  was  to  labor  for 
himself  in  those  cases  only  where  his  subsistence 
depended  on  it.  Now  Clement's  modest  needs  were 
amply  supplied  by  the  villagers. 

On  moonlight  nights  he  would  steal  out  like  a  thief, 
and  dig  some  poor  man's  garden  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
village.  He  made  baskets  and  dropped  them  slyly  at 
humble  doors. 

And  since  he  could  do  nothing  for  the  bodies  of  those 
who  passed  by  his  cell  in  daytime,  he  went  out  in  the 
dead  of  the  night  with  his  hammer  and  his  chisel,  and 
carved  moral  and  religious  sentences  all  down  the  road 
upon  the  sandstone  rocks.  "  Who  knows  ?  99  said  he, 
"  often  a  chance  shaft  striketh  home.  0  sore  heart, 
comfort  thou  the  poor  and  bereaved  with  holy  words  of 
solace  in  their  native  tongue ;  for  he  said  well,  'tis 
'  clavls  ad  corda  plebis? 99  Also  he  remembered  the 
learned  Colonna  had  told  him  of  the  written  mountains 
in  the  East  where  kings  had  inscribed  their  victories. 
"  What,"  said  Clement,  "  are  they  so  wise,  those  Eastern 
monarchs,  to  engrave  their  warlike  glory  upon  the  rock, 
making  a  blood  bubble  endure  so  long  as  earth ;  and  shall 
I  leave  the  rocks  about  me  silent  on  the  King  of  Glory, 
at  whose  word  they  were,  and  at  whose  breath  they  shall 
be  dust  ?    Nay,  but  these  stones  shall  speak  to  weary 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  395 


wayfarers  of  eternal  peace,  and  of  the  Lamb  whose  frail, 
and  afflicted,  yet  happy  servant  worketh  them  among." 

Now  at  this  time  the  inspired  words  that  have  con- 
soled the  poor  and  the  afflicted  for  so  many  ages,  were 
not  yet  printed  in  Dutch,  so  that  these  sentences  of  gold 
from  the  holy  Evangelists  came  like  fresh  oracles  from 
heaven,  or  like  the  dew  on  parched  flowers ;  and  the 
poor  hermit's  written  rocks  softened  a  heart  or  two,  and 
sent  the  heavy  laden  singing  on  their  way.1 

These  holy  oracles  that  seemed  to  spring  up  around 
him  like  magic;  his  prudent  answers  through  his  window 
to  such  as  sought  ghostly  counsel ;  and,  above  all,  his 
invisibility,  soon  gained  him  a  prodigious  reputation. 
This  was  not  diminished  by  the  medical  advice  they 
now  and  then  extorted  from  him,  sore  against  his  will, 
by  tears  and  entreaties  ;  for  if  the  patients  got  well,  they 
gave  the  holy  hermit  the  credit,  and,  if  not,  they  laid  all 
the  blame  on  the  devil.  I  think  he  killed  nobody,  for 
his  remedies  were  "  womanish  and  weak."  Sage,  and 
wormwood,  sion,  hyssop,  borage,  spikenard,  dog's-tongue, 
our  Lady's  mantle,  feverfew,  and  faith,  and  all  in  small 
quantities  except  the  last. 

Then  his  abstinence,  sure  sign  of  a  saint.  The  eggs 
and  milk  they  brought  him  at  first  he  refused  with 
horror.  Know  ye  not  the  hermit's  rule  is  bread,  or 
herbs,  and  water  ?  Eggs,  they  are  birds  in  disguise ;  for 
when  the  bird  dieth  then  the  egg  rotteth.  As  for  milk, 
it  is  little  better  than  white  blood.  And  when  they 
brought  him  too  much  bread  he  refused  it.  Then  they 
used  to  press  it  on  him.  "  Nay,  holy  father ;  give  the 
overplus  to  the  poor." 

"  You  who  go  among  the  poor  can  do  that  better.  Ts 

1  It  requires  nowadays  a  strong  effort  of  the  imagination  to  realize  the 
effect  on  poor  people  who  had  never  seen  them  before,  of  such  sentences  as 
this,  "  Blessed  are  the  poor,"  etc. 


396  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


bread  a  thing  to  fling  hap-hazard  from  an  hermit's 
window  ?  "  And  to  those  who  persisted  after  this  :  "To 
live  on  charity,  yet  play  Sir  Bountiful,  is  to  lie  with  the 
right  hand.  Giving  another's  to  the  poor,  I  should  beguile 
them  of  their  thanks,  and  cheat  thee  the  true  giver. 
Thus  do  thieves,  whose  boast  it  is  they  bleed  the  rich 
into  the  lap  of  the  poor.  Occasio  avaritice  nomen  pau- 
perum." 

When  nothing  else  would  convince  the  good  souls,  this 
piece  of  Latin  always  brought  them  round.  So  would  a 
line  of  Virgil's  Mneid. 

This  great  reputation  of  sanctity  was  all  external. 
Inside  the  cell  was  a  man  who  held  the  hermit  of  Gouda 
as  cheap  as  dirt. 

"  Ah  ! "  said  he,  "  I  cannot  deceive  myself ;  I  cannot 
deceive  God's  animals.  See  the  little  birds,  how  coy 
they  be !  I  feed  and  feed  them  and  long  for  their  friend- 
ship, yet  will  they  never  come  within,  nor  take  my  hand, 
by  lighting  on't.  For  why  ?  No  Paul,  no  Benedict,  no 
Hugh  of  Lincoln,  no  Columba,  no  Guthlac,  bides  in  this 
cell.  Hunted  doe  flieth  not  hither,  for  here  is  no  Fructu- 
osus,  nor  Aventine,  nor  Albert  of  Suabia ;  nor  e'en  a 
pretty  squirrel  cometh  from  the  wood  hard  by  for  the 
acorns  I  have  hoarded  ;  for  here  abideth  no  Columban. 
The  very  owl  that  was  here  hath  fled.  They  are  not  to 
be  deceived;  I  have  a  Pope's  word  for  that;  Heaven 
rest  his  soul." 

Clement  had  one  advantage  over  her,  whose  image  in 
his  heart  he  was  bent  on  destroying. 

He  had  suffered  and  survived  the  pang  of  bereave- 
ment ;  and  the  mind  cannot  quite  repeat  such  anguish. 
Then  he  had  built  up  a  habit  of  looking  on  her  as  dead. 
After  that  strange  scene  in  the  church  and  churchyard 
of  St.  Laurens,  that  habit  might  be  compared  to  a 
structure  riven  by  a  thunderbolt.    It  was  shattered,  but 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  397 


stones  enough  stood  to  found  a  similar  habit  on ;  to  look 
on  her  as  dead  to  him. 

And,  by  severe  subdivision  of  his  time  and  thoughts, 
by  unceasing  prayers,  and  manual  labor,  he  did,  in  about 
three  months,  succeed  in  benumbing  the  earthly  half  of 
his  heart. 

But  lo !  within  a  day  or  two  of  this  first  symptom  of 
mental  peace  returning  slowly,  there  descended  upon  his 
mind  a  horrible  despondency. 

Words  cannot  utter  it ;  for  words  never  yet  painted  a 
likeness  of  despair.  Voices  seemed  to  whisper  in  his 
ear,  "  Kill  thyself  !  kill !  kill !  kill !  " 

And  he  longed  to  obey  the  voices ;  for  life  was  intol- 
erable. He  wrestled  with  his  dark  enemy  with  prayers 
and  tears;  he  prayed  God  but  to  vary  his  temptation. 
"  Oh,  let  mine  enemy  have  power  to  scourge  me  with  red- 
hot  whips,  to  tear  me  leagues  and  leagues  over  rugged 
places  by  the  hair  of  my  head,  as  he  has  served  many  a 
holy  hermit,  that  yet  baffled  him  at  last ;  to  fly  on  me 
like  a  raging  lion  ;  to  gnaw  me  with  a  serpent's  fangs : 
any  pain,  any  terror,  but  this  horrible  gloom  of  the  soul 
that  shuts  me  from  all  light  of  Thee  and  of  the  saints." 

And  now  a  freezing  thought  crossed  him.  What  if 
the  triumphs  of  the  powers  of  darkness  over  Christian 
souls  in  desert  places,  had  been  suppressed ;  and  only 
their  defeats  recorded,  or  at  least  in  full :  for  dark  hints 
were  scattered  about  antiquity  that  now  first  began  to 
grin  at  him  with  terrible  meaning. 

"They  wandered  in  the  desert  and  perished  by  ser- 
pents," said  an  ancient  father,  of  hermits  that  went  into 
solitude,  "and  were  seen  no  more."  And  another  at  a 
more  recent  epoch,  wrote :  "  Vertuntur  ad  melancholiam ;" 
"  they  turn  to  gloomy  madness."  These  two  statements 
were  they  not  one  ?  for  the  ancient  fathers  never  spoke 
with  regret  of  the  death  of  the  body.    No,  the  hermits 


398  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


so  lost  were  perished  souls,  and  the  serpents  were  dia- 
bolical 1  thoughts,  the  natural  brood  of  solitude. 

St.  Jerome  went  into  the  desert  with  three  companions', 
one  fled  in  the  first  year ;  two  died :  how  ?  The  single 
one  that  lasted,  was  a  gigantic  soul  with  an  iron 
body. 

The  contemporary  who  related  this  made  no  comment : 
expressed  no  wonder.  TThat  then  if  here  was  a  glimpse 
of  the  true  proportion  in  every  age.  and  many  souls  had 
always  been  lost  in  solitude  for  one  gigantic  mind  and 
iron  body  that  survived  this  terrible  ordeal  ? 

The  darkened  recluse  now  cast  his  despairing  eyes 
over  antiquity  to  see  what  weapons  the  Christian  arsenal 
contained,  that  might  befriend  him.  The  greatest  of  all 
was  prayer.  Alas  !  it  was  a  part  of  his  malady  to  be 
unable  to  pray  with  true  fervor.  The  very  system  of 
mechanical  supplication  he  had  for  months  carried  out 
so  severely  by  rule  had  rather  checked  than  fostered  his 
power  of  originating  true  prayer. 

He  prayed  louder  than  ever,  but  the  heart  hung  back 
cold  and  gloomy,  and  let  the  words  go  up  alone. 

'•'Poor  wingless  prayers,"''  he  cried  ;  "you  will  not  get 
half  way  to  heaven.'' 

A  fiend  of  this  complexion  had  been  driven  out  of 
King  Saul  by  music. 

Clement  took  up  the  hermit's  psaltery,  and  with  much 
trouble  mended  the  strings  and  tuned  it. 

Nb3  he  could  not  play  it.  His  soul  was  so  out  of  tune. 
The  sounds  jarred  on  it,  and  made  him  almost  mad. 

"  Ah,  wretched  me  !  "  he  cried.  "  Saul  had  a  saint  to 
play  to  him.  He  was  not  alone  with  the  spirits  of  dark- 
ness ;  but  here  is  no  sweet  bard  of  Israel  to  play  to  me ; 

1  The  primitive  writer  was  so  interpreted  by  others  besides  Clement  ;  and, 
in  particular  by  Peter  of  Blois,  a  divine  of  the  twelfth  century,  whose  com- 
ment is  noteworthy,  as  he  himself  was  a  forty-year  hermit. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  399 


I,  lonely,  with  crushed  heart,  on  which  a  black  fiend 
sitteth  mountain  high,  must  make  the  music  to  uplift 
that  heart  to  heaven ;  it  may  not  be."    And  he  grovelled 
on  the  earth  weeping  and  tearing  his  hair. 
Vertebatur  ad  melancholiam. 


400  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTJSK  XL1V. 

One  day  as  he  lay  there  sighing,  and  groaning,  prayer* 
less,  tuneless,  hopeless,  a  thought  flashed  into  his  mind. 
What  he  had  done  for  the  poor  and  the  wayfarer,  he 
would  do  for  himself.  He  would  fill  his  den  of  despair 
with  the  name  of  God  and  the  magic  words  of  Holy  Writ, 
and  the  pious,  prayerful  consolations  of  the  Church, 

Then,  like  Christian  at  Apollyon's  feet,  he  reached  his 
hand  suddenly  out  and  caught,  not  his  sword,  for  he  had 
none,  but  peaceful  labor's  humbler  weapon,  his  chisel, 
and  worked  with  it  as  if  his  soul  depended  on  his  arm. 

They  say  that  Michael  Angelo  in  the  next  generation 
used  to  carve  statues,  not  like  our  timid  sculptors,  by 
modelling  the  work  in  clay,  and  then  setting  a  mechanic 
to  chisel  it ;  but  would  seize  the  block,  conceive  the 
image,  and,  at  once,  with  mallet  and  steel  make  the 
marble  chips  fly  like  mad  about  him,  and  the  mass  sprout 
into  form.  Even  so  Clement  drew  no  lines  to  guide  his 
hand.  He  went  to  his  memory  for  the  gracious  words, 
and  then  dashed  at  his  work  and  eagerly  graved  them  in 
the  soft  stone,  between  working  and  fighting. 

He  begged  his  visitors  for  candle  ends,  and  rancid  oil. 

"  Anything  is  good  enough  for  me,"  he  said,  "  if  'twill 
but  burn."  So  at  night  the  cave  glowed  afar  off  like  a 
blacksmith's  forge,  through  the  window  and  the  gaping 
chinks  of  the  rude  stone  door,  and  the  rustics  beholding 
crossed  themselves  and  suspected  deviltries,  and,  within, 
the  holy  talismans  one  after  another  came  upon  the  walls, 
and  the  sparks  and  the  chips  flew  day  and  night,  night 
and  day,  as  the  soldier  of  Solitude  and  of  the  Church 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  401 


plied,  with  sighs  and  groans,  his  bloodless  weapon,  be- 
tween working  and  fighting. 

Kyrie  Eleeison. 
Christe  Eleeison. 

Tov  Zaxavav  ovvtqiyov  tino  jovg  nodag  fifmv.1 
Sursum  corda.2 

Deus  Refugium  nostrum  et  virtus.3 

Agnus  Dei,  qui  tollis  peccata  mundi,  miserere  mihi.4 

Sancta  Trinitas  unus  Deus,  miserere  nobis.5 

Ab  infestationibus  Daemonum,  a  ventura  ira,  a  damnatione 
perpetua,  — Libera  nos  Domine.6 

Deus,  qui  miro  ordine  Angelorum  ministeria,  etc.  (the  whole 
collect).7 

Quern  quserimus  adjutorem  nisi  te  Domine,  qui  pro  peccatis 
nostris  juste  irascaris  ? 8 

Sancte  Deus,  Sancte  fortis,  Sancte  et  misericors  Salvator, 
amarae  morti  ne  tradas  nos. 

And  underneath  the  great  crucifix,  which  was  fastened 
to  the  wall,  he  graved  this  from  Augustine  :  — 

0  anima  Christiana,  respice  vulnera  patientis,  sanguinem 
morientis,  pretium  redemptionis.  Haec  quanta  sint  cogitate, 
et  in  statera  mentis  vestrae  appendite,  ut  totus  vobis  figatur  in 
corde,  qui  pro  vobis  totus  fixus  est  in  cruce.  Nam,  si  passio 
Christi  ad  memoriam  revocetur,  nihil  est  tarn  durum  quod  non 
aequo  animo  toleretur. 

1  Beat  down  Satan  under  our  feet. 

3  Up,  hearts ! 

8  O  God  our  refuge  and  strength. 

4  O  Lamb  of  God,  that  takest  away  the  sins  of  the  world,  have  mercy  upon 
me! 

6  O  Holy  Trinity,  one  God,  have  mercy  upon  us. 

6  From  the  assaults  of  demons,  — from  the  wrath  to  come,— -from  ever, 
lasting  damnation  —  Deliver  us,  O  Lord ! 

»  See  the  English  collect,  St.  Michael  and  all  Angels. 

8  Of  whom  may  we  seek  succor,  but  of  thee,  O  Lord,  who  for  our  sins 
art  justly  displeased  (and  that  torrent  of  prayer,  the  following  verse). 


402  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


Which  may  be  thus  rendered :  — 

O  Christian  soul,  look  on  the  wounds  of  the  suffering  One, 
the  blood  of  the  dying  One,  the  price  paid  for  our  redemption ! 
These  things,  oh  think  how  great  they  be,  and  weigh  them  in 
the  balance  of  thy  mind :  that  He  may  be  wholly  nailed  to  thy 
heart,  who  for  thee  was  all  nailed  unto  the  cross.  For  do  but 
call  to  mind  the  sufferings  of  Christ,  and  there  is  nought  on 
earth  too  hard  to  endure  with  composure. 

Soothed  a  little,  a  very  little,  by  the  sweet  and  pious 
words  he  was  raising  all  round  him,  and  weighed  down 
with  watching  and  working  night  and  day,  Clement  one 
morning  sank  prostrate  with  fatigue ;  and  a  deep  sleep 
overpowered  him  for  many  hours. 

Awaking  quietly,  he  heard  a  little  cheep  ;  he  opened 
his  eyes,  and,  lo !  upon  his  breviary,  which  was  on  a  low 
stool  near  his  feet,  ruffling  all  his  feathers  with  a  single 
pull,  and  smoothing  them  as  suddenly,  and  cocking  his 
bill  this  way  and  that  with  a  vast  display  of  cunning 
purely  imaginary,  perched  a  robin  redbreast. 

Clement  held  his  breath. 

He  half  closed  his  eyes  lest  they  should  frighten  the 
airy  guest. 

Down  came  robin  on  the  floor. 

When  there  he  went  through  his  pantomime  of  astute- 
ness ;  and  then,  pirn,  pirn,  pirn,  with  three  stiff  little 
hops,  like  a  ball  of  worsted  on  vertical  wires,  he  was  on 
the  hermit's  bare  foot.  On  this  eminence  he  swelled  and 
contracted  again,  with  ebb  and  flow  of  feathers;  but 
Clement  lost  this,  for  he  quite  closed  his  eyes  and  scarce 
drew  his  breath  in  fear  of  frightening  and  losing  his  vis- 
itor. He  was  content  to  feel  the  minute  claw  on  his 
foot.  He  could  but  just  feel  it,  and  that  by  help  of 
knowing  it  was  there. 

Presently  a  little  flirt  with  two  little  wings,  and  the 
feathered  busybody  was  on  the  breviary  again. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  403 


Then  Clement  determined  to  try  and  feed  this  pretty 
little  fidget  without  frightening  it  away.  But  it  was 
very  difficult.  He  had  a  piece  of  bread  within  reach, 
but  how  get  at  it  ?  I  think  he  was  five  minutes  creeping 
his  hand  up  to  that  bread,  and  when  there  he  must  not 
move  his  arm. 

He  slyly  got  a  crumb  between  a  finger  and  thumb  and 
shot  it  as  boys  do  marbles,  keeping  the  hand  quite  still. 

Cock-robin  saw  it  fall  near  him,  and  did  sagacity,  but 
moved  not. 

When  another  followed,  and  then  another :  he  popped 
down  and  caught  up  one  of  the  crumbs,  but  not  quite 
understanding  this  mystery  fled  with  it,  for  more  security, 
to  an  eminence ;  to  wit  the  hermit's  knee. 

And  so  the  game  proceeded  till  a  much  larger  fragment 
than  usual  rolled  along. 

Here  was  a  prize.  Cock-robin  pounced  on  it,  bore  it 
aloft  and  fled  so  swiftly  into  the  world  with  it,  the  cave 
resounded  with  the  buffeted  air. 

"  Now  bless  thee,  sweet  bird,"  sighed  the  stricken  sol- 
itary ;  "  thy  wings  are  music,  and  thou  a  feathered  ray 
camedst  to  light  my  darkened  soul." 

And  from  that  to  his  orisons  j  and  then  to  his  tools 
with  a  little  bit  of  courage  ;  and  this  was  his  day's 
work :  — 

Veni  Creator  Spiritus 
M  entes  tuorum  visita 
linple  superna  gratia 
Quae  ru  creasti  pectora. 

Accende  lumen  sensibus 
Mentes  tuorum  visita 
Infirma  nostri  corporis 
Virtute  firmans  perpetim. 

And  so  the  days  rolled  on ;  and  the  weather  got  colder 
and  Clement's  heart  got  warmer,  and  despondency  was 


404  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


rolling  away  ;  and  by-and-by,  somehow  or  another,  it  was 
gone.    He  had  outlived  it. 

It  had  come  like  a  cloud,  and  it  went  like  one. 

And  presently  all  was  reversed ;  his  cell  seemed  illu- 
minated with  joy.  His  work  pleased  him;  his  prayers 
were  full  of  unction;  his  psalms  of  praise.  Hosts  of 
little  birds  followed  their  crimson  leader,  and  flying 
from  snow,  and  a  parish  full  of  Cains,  made  friends  one 
after  another  with  Abel ;  fast  friends.  And  one  keen 
frosty  night  as  he  sang  the  praises  of  God  to  his  tuneful 
psaltery,  and  his  hollow  cave  rang  forth  the  holy  psal- 
mody upon  the  night,  as  if  that  cave  itself  was  Tubal' s 
sounding  shell,  or  David's  harp,  he  heard  a  clear  whine, 
not  unmelodious  ;  it  became  louder  and  less  in  tune.  He 
peeped  through  the  chinks  of  his  rude  door,  and  there 
sat  a  great  red  wolf  moaning  melodiously  with  his  nose 
high  in  the  air. 

Clement  was  rejoiced.  "My  sins  are  going,"  he  cried, 
"and  the  creatures  of  God  are  owning  me,  one  after  an- 
other.1' And  in  a  burst  of  enthusiasm  he  struck  up  the 
laud : 

"Praise  Him  all  ye  creatures  of  His ! 
"Let  everything  that  hath  breath  praise  the  Lord." 
And  all  the  time  he  sang  the  wolf  bayed  at  inter- 
vals. 

But  above  all  he  seemed  now  to  be  drawing  nearer  to 
that  celestial  intercourse,  which  was  the  sign  and  the 
bliss  of  the  true  hermit;  for  he  had  dreams  about  the 
saints  and  angels,  so  vivid,  they  were  more  like  visions. 
He  saw  bright  figures  clad  in  woven  snow.  They  bent 
on  him  eyes  lovelier  than  those  of  the  antelope's  he  had 
seen  at  Eome,  and  fanned  him  with  broad  wings  hued 
like  the  rainbow,  and  their  gentle  voices  bade  him  speed 
upon  his  course. 

He  had  not  long  enjoyed  this  felicity  when  his  dreams 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  405 


began  to  take  another  and  a  strange  complexion.  He 
wandered  with  Fra  Colonna  over  the  relics  of  antique 
nations,  and  the  friar  was  lame  and  had  a  staff,  and  this 
staff  he  waved  over  the  mighty  ruins,  and  were  they 
Egyptian,  Greek,  or  Koman,  straightway  the  temples 
and  palaces  whose  wrecks  they  were,  rose  again  like  an 
exhalation,  and  were  thronged  with  the  famous  dead. 
Songsters  that  might  have  eclipsed  both  Apollo  and  his 
rival,  poured  forth  their  lays :  women,  godlike  in  form, 
and  draped  like  Minerva,  swam  round  the  marble  courts 
in  voluptuous  but  easy  and  graceful  dances.  Here  sculp- 
tors carved  away  amidst  admiring  pupils,  and  forms  of 
supernatural  beauty  grew  out  of  Parian  marble  in  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour;  and  grave  philosophers  conversed  on  high 
and  subtle  matters,  with  youth  listening  reverently :  it 
was  a  long  time  ago.  And  still  beneath  all  this  wonder- 
ful panorama  a  sort  of  suspicion  or  expectation  lurked 
in  the  dreamer's  mind.  "  This  is  a  prologue,  a  flourish, 
there  is  something  behind ;  something  that  means  me  no 
good,  something  mysterious,  awful." 

And  one  night  that  the  wizard  Colonna  had  tran- 
scended himself,  he  pointed  with  his  stick,  and  there 
was  a  swallowing  up  of  many  great  ancient  cities,  and 
the  pair  stood  on  a  vast  sandy  plain  with  a  huge  crimson 
sun  sinking  to  rest.  There  were  great  palm-trees ;  and 
there  were  bulrush  hives,  scarce  a  man's  height,  dotted 
all  about  to  the  sandy  horizon,  and  the  crimson  sun. 

"  These  are  the  anchorites  of  the  Theban  desert,"  said 
Colonna,  calmly  ;  "  followers  not  of  Christ  and  his  apos- 
tles, and  the  great  fathers,  but  of  the  Greek  pupils  of 
the  Egyptian  pupils  of  the  Brachmans  and  Gymnoso- 
phists." 

And  Clement  thought  that  he  burned  to  go  and  embrace 
the  holy  men  and  tell  them  his  troubles,  and  seek  their 
advice.    But  he  was  tied  by  the  feet  somehow,  and  could 


406  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEABTH. 


not  move,  and  the  crimson  sun  sank ;  and  it  got  dusk, 
and  the  hives  scarce  visible.  And  Colonna's  figure  be- 
came shadowy  and  shapeless,  but  his  eyes  glowed  ten 
times  brighter :  and  this  thing  all  eyes  spoke  and  said : 
"  Xay,  let  them  be,  a  pack  of  fools  !  see  how  dismal  it 
all  is."  Then  with  a  sudden  sprightliness,  "  But  I  hear 
one  of  them  has  a  manuscript  of  Petronius,  on  papyrus ; 
I  go  to  buy  it,  farewell  forever,  forever,  forever." 

And  it  was  x>itch  dark,  and  a  light  came  at  Clement's 
back  like  a  gentle  stroke  ;  a  glorious  roseate  light.  It 
warmed  as  well  as  brightened.  It  loosened  his  feet 
from  the  ground ;  he  turned  round,  and  there,  her  face 
irradiated  with  sunshine,  and  her  hair  glittering  like  the 
gloriola  of  a  saint,  was  ^Margaret  Brandt. 

She  blushed  and  smiled  and  cast  a  look  of  ineffable 
tenderness  on  him.  "'Gerard,"  she  murmured,  "be 
whose  thou  wilt  by  day,  but  at  night  be  mine ! " 

Even  as  she  spoke,  the  agitation  of  seeing  her  so  sud- 
denly awakened  him,  and  he  found  himself  lying  trem- 
bling from  head  to  foot. 

That  radiant  figure,  and  mellow  voice,  seemed  to  have 
struck  his  nightly  keynote. 

Awake  he  could  pray  and  praise  and  worship  God ;  he 
was  master  of  his  thoughts.  But,  if  he  closed  his  eyes 
in  sleep,  ^Margaret,  or  Satan  in  her  shape,  beset  him  a 
seeming  angel  of  light.  He  might  dream  of  a  thousand 
different  things,  wide  as  the  poles  asunder,  ere  he  woke 
the  imperial  figure  was  sure  to  come  and  extinguish  all 
the  rest  in  a  moment,  stellas  exortus  uti  cetherius  sol :  for 
she  came  glowing  with  two  beauties  never  before  united, 
an  angel's  radiance  and  a  woman's  blushes. 

Angels  cannot  blush.    So  he  knew  it  was  a  fiend. 

He  was  alarmed,  but  not  so  much  surprised  as  at  the 
demon's  last  artifice.  From  Anthony  to  Nicholas  of  the 
Bock  scarce  a  hermit  that  had  not  been  thus  beset; 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


407 


sometimes  with  gay  voluptuous  visions,  sometimes  with 
lovely  phantoms,  warm,  tangible,  and  womanly  without, 
demons  within,  nor  always  baffled  even  by  the  saints. 
Witness  that  "angel  form  with  a  devil's  heart,"  that 
came  hanging  its  lovely  head,  like  a  bruised  flower,  to 
St.  Macarius,  with  a  feigned  tale  :  and  wept,  and  wept, 
and  wept,  and  beguiled  him  first  of  his  tears  and  then  of 
half  his  virtue. 

But  with  the  examples  of  Satanic  power  and  craft  had 
come  down  copious  records  of  the  hermits'  triumphs  and 
the  weapons  by  which  they  had  conquered. 

Domandum  est  corpus;  the  body  must  be  tamed ;  this 
had  been  their  watchword  for  twelve  hundred  years.  It 
was  a  tremendous  war-cry ;  for  they  called  the  earthly 
affections,  as  well  as  appetites,  body ;  and  crushed 
the  whole  heart  through  the  suffering  and  mortified 
flesh. 

Clement  then  said  to  himself  that  the  great  enemy  of 
man  had  retired  but  to  spring  with  more  effect,  and  had 
allowed  him  a  few  days  of  true  purity  and  joy  only  to 
put  him  off  his  guard  against  the  soft  blandishments  he 
was  pouring  over  the  soul,  that  had  survived  the  buffet- 
ing of  his  black  wings.  He  applied  himself  to  tame  the 
body :  he  shortened  his  sleep,  lengthened  his  prayers, 
and  increased  his  severe  temperance  to  abstinence. 
Hitherto,  following  the  ordinary  rule,  he  had  eaten 
only  at  sunset.  Now  he  ate  but  once  in  forty-eight 
hours,  drinking  a  little  water  every  day. 

On  this  the  visions  became  more  distinct. 

Then  he  flew  to  a  famous  antidote;  to  "the  grand 
febrifuge  "  of  anchorites  —  cold  water. 

He  found  the  deepest  part  of  the  stream  that  ran  by 
his  cell ;  it  rose  not  far  off  at  a  holy  well ;  and,  clearing 
the  bottom  of  the  large  stones,  made  a  hole  where  he 
could  stand  in  water  to  the  chin,  and,  fortified  by  so 


408  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


many  examples,  he  sprang  from  his  rude  bed  upon  the 
next  diabolical  assault,  and  entered  the  icy  water. 

It  made  him  gasp  and  almost  shriek  with  the  cold.  It 
froze  his  marrow.  "  I  shall  die,"  he  cried,  "  I  shall  die  : 
but  better  this  than  fire  eternal."  And  the  next  day  he 
was  so  stiff  in  all  his  joints  he  could  not  move,  and  he 
seemed  one  great  ache.  And  even  in  sleep  he  felt  that 
his  very  bones  were  like  so  many  raging  teeth,  till  the 
phantom  he  dreaded  came  and  gave  one  pitying  smile, 
and  all  the  pain  was  gone. 

Then,  feeling  that  to  go  into  the  icy  water  again, 
enfeebled  by  fasts,  as  he  was,  might  perhaps  carry  the 
guilt  of  suicide,  he  scourged  himself  till  the  blood  ran, 
and  so  lay  down  smarting. 

And  when  exhaustion  began  to  blunt  the  smart  down 
to  a  throb,  that  moment  the  present  was  away,  and  the 
past  came  smiling  back.  He  sat  with  Margaret  at  the 
duke's  feast,  the  minstrels  played  divinely,  and  the  pur- 
ple fountains  gushed.  Youth  and  love  reigned  in  each 
heart,  and  perfumed  the  very  air. 

Then  the  scene  shifted,  and  they  stood  at  the  altar 
together  man  and  wife.  And  no  interruption  this  time, 
and  they  wandered  hand  in  hand,  and  told  each  other 
their  horrible  dreams.  As  for  him,  "he  had  dreamed 
she  was  dead,  and  he  was  a  monk ;  and  really  the  dream 
had  been  so  vivid,  and  so  full  of  particulars,  that  only 
his  eyesight  could  even  now  convince  him  it  was  only  a 
dream,  and  they  were  really  one." 

And  this  new  keynote  once  struck,  every  tune  ran 
upon  it.  Awake  he  was  Clement  the  hermit,  risen  from 
unearthly  visions  of  the  night,  as  dangerous  as  they 
were  sweet;  asleep  he  was  Gerard  Eliassoen,  the  happy 
husband  of  the  loveliest  and  best  and  truest  girl  in 
Holland :  all  the  happier  that  he  had  been  for  some  time 
the  sport  of  hideous  dreams,  in  which  he  had  lost  her. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  409 

His  constant  fasts,  coupled  with  other  austerities,  and 
the  deep  mental  anxiety  of  a  man  fighting  with  a  super- 
natural foe,  had  now  reduced  him  nearly  to  a  skeleton ; 
but  still  on  those  aching  bones  hung  flesh  unsubdued, 
and  quivering  with  an  earthly  passion  ;  so,  however,  he 
thought :  "  or  why  had  ill  spirits  such  power  over  him  ?  " 
His  opinion  was  confirmed,  when  one  day  he  detected 
himself  sinking  to  sleep  actually  with  a  feeling  of  com- 
placency, because  now  Margaret  would  come,  and  he 
should  feel  no  more  pain,  and  the  unreal  would  be  real, 
and  the  real  unreal,  for  an  hour. 

On  this  he  rose  hastily  with  a  cry  of  dismay,  and 
stripping  to  the  skin  climbed  up  to  the  brambles  above 
his  cave,  and  flung  himself  on  them,  and  rolled  on  them 
writhing  with  the  pain :  then  he  came  into  his  den  a 
mass  of  gore,  and  lay  moaning  for  hours ;  till,  out  of 
sheer  exhaustion  he  fell  into  a  deep  and  dreamless  sleep. 

He  awoke  to  bodily  pain,  and  mental  exultation ;  he 
had  broken  the  fatal  spell.  Yes,  it  was  broken  ;  another 
and  another  day  passed,  and  her  image  molested  him  no 
more.    But  he  caught  himself  sighing  at  his  victory. 

The  birds  got  tamer  and  tamer ;  they  perched  upon 
his  hand.  Two  of  them  let  him  gild  their  little  claws. 
Eating  but  once  in  two  days,  he  had  more  to  give  them. 

His  tranquillity  was  not  to  last  long. 

A  woman's  voice  came  in  from  the  outside,  told  him 
his  own  story  in  a  very  few  words,  and  asked  him  to  tell 
her  where  Gerard  was  to  be  found. 

He  was  so  astounded  he  could  only  say,  with  an  in- 
stinct of  self-defence,  "  Pray  for  the  soul  of  Gerard  the 
son  of  Eli ! "  meaning  that  he  was  dead  to  the  world. 
And  he  sat  wondering. 

When  the  woman  was  gone,  he  determined,  after  an 
inward  battle,  to  risk  being  seen,  and  he  peeped  after 
her  to  see  who  it  could  be  ;  but  he  took  so  many  precau* 


410  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


tions,  and  she  ran  so  quickly  back  to  her  friend,  that  the 
road  was  clear. 

"  Satan  !  "  said  he  directly. 

And  that  night  back  came  his  visions  of  earthly  love 
and  happiness  so  vividly,  he  could  count  every  auburn 
hair  in  Margaret's  head,  and  see  the  pupils  of  her  eyes. 

Then  he  began  to  despair,  and  said,  "  I  must  leave 
this  country  ;  here  I  am  bound  fast  in  memory's  chain;" 
and  began  to  dread  his  cell.  He  said,  "  A  breath  from 
hell  hath  infected  it,  and  robbed  even  these  holy 
words  of  their  virtue."  And  unconsciously  imitating 
St.  Jerome,  a  victim  of  earthly  hallucinations,  as  over- 
powering and  coarser,  he  took  his  warmest  covering  out 
into  the  wood  hard  by,  and  there  flung  down  under  a 
tree  that  torn  and  wrinkled  leather  bag  of  bones,  which 
a  little  ago  might  have  served  a  sculptor  for  Apollo. 

Whether  the  fever  of  his  imagination  intermitted,  as 
a  master  mind  of  our  day  has  shown  that  all  things 
intermit,1  or  that  this  really  broke  some  subtle  link,  I 
know  not,  but  his  sleep  was  dreamless. 

He  awoke  nearly  frozen,  but  warm  with  joy  within. 

"  I  shall  yet  be  a  true  hermit,  Dei  gratia"  said  he. 

The  next  day  some  good  soul  left  ononis  little  plat- 
form a  new  lamb's-wool  pelisse  and  cape,  warm,  soft,  and 
ample. 

He  had  a  moment's  misgiving  on  account  of  its  deli- 
cious softness  and  warmth ;  but  that  passed.  It  was  the 
right  skin,2  and  a  mark  that  Heaven  approved  his  pres- 
ent course. 

It  restored  warmth  to  his  bones  after  he  came  in  from 
his  short  rest. 

And  now,  at  one  moment  he  saw  victory  before  him  if 

1  Dr.  Dickson,  author  of  Fallacies  of  the  Faculty,  etc. 

2  It  is  related  of  a  mediaeval  hermit,  that  being  offered  a  garment  made  of 
cats'  skins,  he  rejected  it,  saying,  "I  have  heard  of  a  lamb  of  God,  but  I 
never  heard  of  a  cat  of  God." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


411 


he  could  but  live  to  it ;  at  another,  he  said  to  himself, 
"  'Tis  but  another  lull ;  be  on  thy  guard,  Clement." 

And  this  thought  agitated  his  nerves,  and  kept  him  in 
continual  awe. 

He  was  like  a  soldier  within  the  enemy's  lines. 

One  night,  a  beautiful  clear  frosty  night,  he  came 
back  to  his  cell,  after  a  short  rest.  The  stars  were  won- 
derful. Heaven  seemed  a  thousand  times  larger  as  well 
as  brighter  than  earth,  and  to  look  with  a  thousand  eyes 
instead  of  one. 

"  Oh,  wonderful,"  he  cried,  "  that  there  should  be  men 
who  do  crimes  by  night;  and  others  scarce  less  mad, 
who  live  for  this  little  world,  and  not  for  that  great  and 
glorious  one,  which  nightly,  to  all  eyes  not  blinded  by 
custom,  reveals  its  glowing  glories.  Thank  God  I  am  a 
hermit." 

And  in  this  mood  he  came  to  his  cell  door. 
He  paused  at  it ;  it  was  closed. 

"Why,  methought  I  left  it  open,"  said  he.  "The 
wind !  There  is  not  a  breath  of  wind.  What  means 
this  ?  " 

He  stood  with  his  hand  upon  the  rugged  door.  He 
looked  through  one  of  the  great  chinks,  for  it  was  much 
smaller  in  places  than  the  aperture  it  pretended  to  close, 
and  saw  his  little  oil  wick  burning  just  where  he  had 
left  it. 

"How  is  it  with  me,"  he  sighed,  "when  I  start  and 
tremble  at  nothing  ?  Either  I  did  shut  it,  or  the  fiend 
hath  shut  it  after  me  to  disturb  my  happy  soul.  Retro 
Sathanas !  " 

And  he  entered  his  cave  rapidly,  and  began  with  some- 
what nervous  expedition  to  light  one  of  his  largest 
tapers.  While  he  was  lighting  it,  there  was  a  soft  sigh 
in  the  cave. 

He  started  and  dropped  the  candle  just  as  it  was 
lighting,  and  it  went  out. 


412  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


He  stooped  for  it  hurriedly  and  lighted  it,  listening 
intently.  When  it  was  lighted  he  shaded  it  with  his 
hand  from  behind,  and  threw  the  faint  light  all  round 
the  cell. 

In  the  farthest  corner  the  outline  of  the  wall  seemed 
broken. 

He  took  a  step  towards  the  place  with  his  heart 
beating. 

The  candle  at  the  same  time  getting  brighter,  he  saw 
it  was  the  figure  of  a  woman. 

Another  step  with  his  knees  knocking  together. 
It  was  Margaret  Brandt. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  413 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

Her  attitude  was  one  to  excite  pity  rather  than  terror, 
in  eyes  not  blinded  by  a  preconceived  notion.  Her 
bosom  was  fluttering  like  a  bird,  and  the  red  and  white 
coming  and  going  in  her  cheeks,  and  she  had  her  hand 
against  the  wall  by  the  instinct  of  timid  things,  she 
trembled  so ;  and  the  marvellous  mixed  gaze  of  love, 
and  pious  awe,  and  pity,  and  tender  memories,  those 
purple  eyes  cast  on  the  emaciated  and  glaring  hermit, 
was  an  event  in  nature. 

"Aha!"  he  cried.  "Thou  art  come  at  last  in  flesh 
and  blood ;  come  to  me  as  thou  earnest  to  holy  Anthony. 
But  I  am  ware  of  thee ;  I  thought  thy  wiles  were  not 
exhausted.  I  am  armed."  With  this  he  snatched  up 
his  small  crucifix  and  held  it  out  at  her,  astonished,  and 
the-  candle  in  the  other  hand,  both  crucifix  and  candle 
shaking  violently,  "  Exorcizo  te." 

"  Ah,  no ! "  cried  she  piteously ;  and  put  out  two 
pretty  deprecating  palms.  "Alas  !  work  me  no  ill.  It 
is  Margaret." 

"  Liar  ! "  shouted  the  hermit.  "  Margaret  was  fair, 
but  not  so  supernatural  fair  as  thou.  Thou  didst  shrink 
at  that  sacred  name,  thou  subtle  hypocrite.  In  Nomine 
Dei  exorcizo  vos." 

"  Ah,  J esu  !  "  gasped  Margaret,  in  extremity  of  terror, 
a  curse  me  not !  I  will  go  home.  I  thought  /  might 
come.  For  very  manhood  be-Latin  me  not !  0  Gerard, 
is  it  thus  you  and  I  meet  after  all ;  after  all  ?  " 

And  she  cowered  almost  to  her  knees,  and  sobbed  with 
superstitious  fear  and  wounded  affection. 


414  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


Impregnated  as  lie  was  with  Satanophobia,  he  might 
perhaps  have  doubted  still  whether  this  distressed 
creature,  all  woman,  and  nature,  was  not  all  art,  and 
fiend.  But  her  spontaneous  appeal  to  that  sacred  name 
dissolved  his  chimera ;  and  let  him  see  with  his  eyes, 
and  hear  with  his  ears. 

He  uttered  a  cry  of  self-reproach,  and  tried  to  raise 
her ;  but  what  with  fasts,  what  with  the  overpowering 
emotion  of  a  long  solitude  so  broken,  he  could  not. 
"  What,"  he  gasped,  shaking  over  her,  "  and  is  it  thou  ? 
And  have  I  met  thee  with  hard  words  ?  Alas  ! "  And 
they  were  both  choked  with  emotion,  and  could  not 
speak  for  awhile. 

"I  heed  it  not  much,"  said  Margaret  bravely,  strug- 
gling with  her  tears  ;  "  you  took  me  for  another ;  for  a 
devil :  oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  oh !  oh  !  " 

" Forgive  me,  sweet  soul!"  And  as  soon  as  he  could 
speak  more  than  a  word  at  a  time,  he  said,  "  I  have  been 
much  beset  by  the  evil  one  since  I  came  here." 

Margaret  looked  round  with  a  shudder.  "  Like  enow. 
Then,  oh  take  my  hand,  and  let  me  lead  thee  from  this 
foul  place." 

He  gazed  at  her  with  astonishment. 

"  What,  desert  my  cell,  and  go  into  the  world  again  ? 
Is  it  for  that  thou  hast  come  to  me  ?  "  said  he,  sadly  and 
reproachfully. 

"  Ay,  Gerard.  I  am  come  to  take  thee  to  thy  pretty 
vicarage  :  art  vicar  of  G-ouda,  thanks  to  Heaven  and  thy 
good  brother  Giles :  and  mother  and  I  have  made  it  so 
neat  for  thee,  Gerard.  'Tis  well  enow  in  winter,  I  prom- 
ise thee.  But  bide  a  bit  till  the  hawthorn  bloom,  and 
anon  thy  walls  put  on  their  kirtle  of  brave  roses,  and 
sweet  woodbine.  Have  we  forgotten  thee,  and  the  fool- 
ish things  thou  lovest  ?  And,  dear  Gerard,  thy  mother 
is  waiting ;  and  'tis  late  for  her  to  be  out  of  her  bed  5 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  415 


prithee,  prithee,  come !  And  the  moment  we  are  out 
of  this  foul  hole,  I'll  show  thee  a  treasure  thou  hast 
gotten,  and  knowest  nought  on't,  or  sure  hadst  never 
fled  from  us  so.  Alas  !  what  is  to  do  ?  What  have  I 
ignorantly  said ;  to  be  regarded  thus  ?  " 

For  he  had  drawn  himself  all  up  into  a  heap,  and  was 
looking  at  her  with  a  strange  gaze  of  fear  and  suspicion 
blended. 

"  Unhappy  girl,"  said  he  solemnly,  yet  deeply  agitated, 
"  would  you  have  me  risk  my  soul  and  yours  for  a  miser- 
able vicarage  and  the  flowers  that  grow  on  it  ?  But  this 
is  not  thy  doing:  the  bowelless  fiend  sends  thee,  poor 
simple  girl,  to  me  with  this  bait.  But  oh,  cunning  fiend, 
I  will  unmask  thee  even  to  this  thine  instrument,  and 
she  shall  see  thee,  and  abhor  thee  as  I  do.  Margaret,  my 
lost  love,  why  am  I  here  ?    Because  I  love  thee." 

"  Oh,  no,  Gerard,  you  love  me  not,  or  you  would  not 
have  hidden  from  me  ;  there  was  no  need." 

"  Let  there  be  no  deceit  between  us  twain  :  that  hath 
loved  so  true ;  and  after  this  night,  shall  meet  no  more 
on  earth." 

"Now  God  forbid  !  "  said  she. 

"  I  love  thee,  and  thou  hast  not  forgotten  me,  or  thou 
hadst  married  ere  this,  and  hadst  not  been  the  one  to 
find  me,  buried  here  from  sight  of  man.  I  am  a  priest, 
a  monk :  what  but  folly  or  sin  can  come  of  you  and  me 
living  neighbors,  and  feeding  a  passion  innocent  once, 
but  now  (so  Heaven  wills  it)  impious  and  unholy  ?  No, 
though  my  heart  break,  I  must  be  firm.  'Tis  I  that  am 
the  man,  'tis  I  that  am  the  priest.  You  and  I  must 
meet  no  more,  till  I  am  schooled  by  solitude,  and  thou 
art  wedded  to  another." 

"  I  consent  to  my  doom  but  not  to  thine.  I  would  ten 
times  liever  die  ;  yet  I  will  marry,  ay,  wed  misery  itself 
sooner  than  let  thee  lie  in  this  foul  dismal  place,  with 


416  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


yon  sweet  manse  a-waiting  for  thee."  Clement  groaned^ 
at  each  word  she  spoke  out  stood  clearer  and  clearer  two 
things  —  his  duty,  and  the  agony  it  must  cost. 

"  My  beloved,"  said  he,  with  a  strange  mixture  of  ten- 
derness and  dogged  resolution,  "  I  bless  thee  for  giving 
me  one  more  sight  of  thy  sweet  face,  and  may  God  for- 
give thee,  and  bless  thee,  for  destroying  in  a  minute  the 
holy  peace  it  hath  taken  six  months  of  solitude  to  build. 
No  matter.  A  year  of  penance  will,  Dei  gratia,  restore 
me  to  my  calm.  My  poor  Margaret,  I  seem  cruel :  yet 
I  am  kind.    'Tis  best  we  part ;  ay,  this  moment." 

"  Part,  Gerard  ?  Never ;  we  have  seen  what  comes  of 
parting.  Part  ?  Why,  you  have  not  heard  half  my 
story  ;  no,  nor  the  tithe.  'Tis  not  for  thy  mere  comfort 
I  take  thee  to  Gouda  manse.    Hear  me  ! " 

"  I  may  not.  Thy  very  voice  is  a  temptation  with  its 
music,  memory's  delight." 

"  But  I  say  you  shall  hear  me,  Gerard,  for  forth  this 
place  I  go  not  unheard." 

"  Then  must  we  part  by  other  means,"  said  Clement, 
sadly. 

"  Alack  !  what  other  means  ?  Wouldst  put  me  to  thine 
own  door,  being  the  stronger  ?  " 

"Nay,  Margaret,  well  thou  knowest  I  would  suffer 
many  deaths  rather  than  put  force  on  thee ;  thy  sweet 
body  is  dearer  to  me  than  my  own :  but  a  million  times 
dearer  to  me  are  our  immortal  souls,  both  thine  and 
mine.  I  have  withstood  this  direst  temptation  of  all 
long  enow.    Now  I  must  fly  it :  farewell !  farewell ! " 

He  made  to  the  door,  and  had  actually  opened  it  and 
got  half  out,  when  she  darted  after  and  caught  him  by 
the  arm. 

"  Nay,  then  another  must  speak  for  me.  I  thought  to 
reward  thee  for  yielding  to  me :  but  unkind  that  thou 
art,  I  need  his  help  I  find  j  turn  then  this  way  one 
moment." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  417 


"Nay,  nay." 

"But  I  say  ay!  And  then  turn  thy  back  on  as  an 
thou  canst."  She  somewhat  relaxed  her  grasp,  thinking 
he  would  never  deny  her  so  small  a  favor.  But  at  this 
he  saw  his  opportunity  and  seized  it. 

"Fly,  Clement,  fly!"  he  almost  shrieked,  and  his 
religious  enthusiasm  giving  him  for  a  moment  his  old 
strength,  he  burst  wildly  away  from  her,  and  after  a  few 
steps  bounded  over  the  little  stream  and  ran  beside  it, 
but  finding  he  was  not  followed,  stopped,  and  looked 
back. 

She  was  lying  on  her  face,  with  her  hands  spread 
out. 

Yes,  without  meaning  it,  he  had  thrown  her  down  and 
hurt  her. 

When  he  saw  that,  he  groaned  and  turned  back  a  step ; 
but  suddenly,  by  another  impulse,  flung  himself  into  the 
icy  water  instead. 

"  There,  kill  my  body ! "  he  cried,  "  but  save  my 
soul ! " 

Whilst  he  stood  there,  up  to  his  throat  in  liquid  ice,  so 
to  speak,  Margaret  uttered  one  long,  piteous  moan,  and 
rose  to  her  knees. 

He  saw  her  as  plain  almost  as  in  midday.  Saw  her 
pale  face  and  her  eyes  glistening ;  and  then  in  the  still 
night  he  heard  these  words  : 

"  0,  God !  thou  that  knowest  all,  thou  seest  how  I 
am  used.  Forgive  me  then  !  For  I  will  not  live  another 
day."  With  this  she  suddenly  started  to  her  feet,  and 
flew  like  some  wild  creature,  wounded  to  death,  close  by 
his  miserable  hiding-place,  shrieking :  "  Cruel !  —  cruel ! 
—  cruel !  —  cruel ! " 

What  manifold  anguish  may  burst  from  a  human  heart 
in  a  single  syllable !  There  were  wounded  love,  and 
wounded  pride,  and  despair,  and  coming  madness,  all  in 


418  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


that  piteous  cry.  Clement  heard,  and  it  froze  his  heart 
with  terror  and  remorse,  worse  than  the  icy  water  chilled 
the  marrow  of  his  bones. 

He  felt  he  had  driven  her  from  him  forever,  and  in 
the  midst  of  his  dismal  triumph,  the  greatest  he  had 
won,  there  came  an  almost  uncontrollable  impulse  to 
curse  the  Church,  to  curse  religion  itself,  for  exacting 
such  savage  cruelty  from  mortal  man.  At  last  he 
crawled  half  dead  out  of  the  water,  and  staggered  to 
his  den.  "  I  am  safe  here,"  he  groaned ;  "  she  will  never 
come  near  me  again ;  unmanly,  ungrateful  wretch  that  I 
am."  And  he  flung  his  emaciated,  frozen  body  down  on 
the  floor,  not  without  a  secret  hope  that  it  might  never 
rise  thence  alive. 

But  presently  he  saw  by  the  hour-glass  that  it  was 
past  midnight.  On  this,  he  rose  slowly  and  took  off  his 
wet  things,  and,  moaning  all  the  time  at  the  pain  he  had 
caused  her  he  loved,  put  on  the  old  hermit's  cilice  of 
bristles,  and  over  that  his  breastplate.  He  had  never 
worn  either  of  these  before,  doubting  himself  worthy  to 
don  the  arms  of  that  tried  soldier.  But  now  he  must 
give  himself  every  aid :  the  bristles  might  distract  his 
earthly  remorse  by  bodily  pain,  and  there  might  be  holy 
virtue  in  the  breastplate. 

Then  he  kneeled  down  and  prayed  God  humbly  to 
release  him  that  very  night  from  the  burden  of  the  flesh. 
Then  he  lighted  all  his  candles,  and  recited  his  psalter 
doggedly :  each  word  seemed  to  come  like  a  lump  of  lead 
from  a  leaden  heart,  and  to  fall  leaden  to  the  ground ; 
and  in  this  mechanical  office  every  now  and  then  he 
moaned  with  all  his  soul.  In  the  midst  of  which  he 
suddenly  observed  a  little  bundle  in  the  corner  he  had 
not  seen  before  in  the  feebler  light,  and  at  one  end  of  it 
something  like  gold  spun  into  silk. 

He  went  to  see  what  it  could  bej  and  he  had  no 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


419 


sooner  viewed  it  closer,  than  he  threw  up  his  hands  with 
rapture.  "It  is  a  seraph/'  he  whispered,  "a  lovely 
seraph.  Heaven  hath  witnessed  my  bitter  trial,  and 
approves  my  cruelty  ;  and  this  flower  of  the  skies  is  sent 
to  cheer  me,  fainting  under  my  burden." 

He  fell  on  his  knees,  and  gazed  with  ecstasy  on  its 
golden  hair,  and  its  tender  skin,  and  cheeks  like  a 
peach. 

"  Let  me  feast  my  sad  eyes  on  thee  ere  thou  leavest 
me  for  thine  ever-blessed  abode,  and  my  cell  darkens 
again  at  thy  parting,  as  it  did  at  hers." 

With  all  this,  the  hermit  disturbed  the  lovely  visitor. 
He  opened  wide  two  eyes,  the  color  of  heaven;  and 
seeing  a  strange  figure  kneeling  over  him,  he  cried, 
piteously,  "  Mum — ma  !  Mum — ma  !  "  And  the  tears 
began  to  run  down  his  little  cheeks. 

Perhaps,  after  all,  Clement,  who  for  more  than  six 
months  had  not  looked  on  the  human  face  divine,  esti- 
mated childish  beauty  more  justly  than  we  can  ;  and,  in 
truth,  this  fair  Northern  child,  with  its  long  golden  hair, 
was  far  more  angelic  than  any  of  our  imagined  angels. 
But  now  the  spell  was  broken. 

Yet  not  unhappily.  Clement,  it  may  be  remembered, 
was  fond  of  children,  and  true  monastic  life  fosters  this 
sentiment.  The  innocent  distress  on  the  cherubic  face, 
the  tears  that  ran  so  smoothly  from  those  transparent 
violets,  his  eyes,  and  his  pretty,  dismal  cry  for  his  only 
friend,  his  mother,  went  through  the  hermit's  heart.  He 
employed  all  his  gentleness  and  all  his  art  to  soothe 
him ;  and,  as  the  little  soul  was  wonderfully  intelligent 
for  his  age,  presently  succeeded  so  far  that  he  ceased  to 
cry  out,  and  wonder  took  the  place  of  fear  ;  while,  in 
silence,  broken  only  in  little  gulps,  he  scanned,  with 
great  tearful  eyes,  this  strange  figure  that  looked  so 
wild,  but  spoke  so  kindly,  and  wore  armor,  yet  did  not 


420  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

kill  little  boys,  but  coaxed  them.  Clement  was  equally- 
perplexed  to  know  how  this  little  human  flower  came  to 
lie  sparkling  and  blooming  in  his  gloomy  cave.  But  he 
remembered  he  had  left  the  door  wide  open,  and  he  was 
driven  to  conclude  that,  owing  to  this  negligence,  some 
unfortunate  creature  of  high  or  low  degree  had  seized 
this  opportunity  to  get  rid  of  her  child  forever.1  At  this 
his  bowels  yearned  so  over  the  poor  deserted  cherub,  that 
the  tears  of  pure  tenderness  stood  in  his  eyes,  and  still, 
beneath  the  crime  of  the  mother,  he  saw  the  divine  good- 
ness, which  had  so  directed  her  heartlessness  as  to  com- 
fort his  servant's  breaking  heart. 

"Now  bless  thee,  bless  thee,  bless  thee,  sweet  inno- 
cent, I  would  not  change  thee  for  e'en  a  cherub  in 
heaven." 

"At's  pooty,"  replied  the  infant,  ignoring  contempt- 
uously, after  the  manner  of  infants,  all  remarks  that  did 
not  interest  him. 

"  What  is  pretty  here,  my  love,  besides  thee  ?  " 

"  Ookum-gars,"  2  said  the  boy,  pointing  to  the  hermit's 
breastplate. 

"  Quot  liberi,  tot  sententinnculce  I "  Hector's  child 
screamed  at  his  father's  glittering  casque  and  nodding 
crest :  and  here  was  a  mediaeval  babe  charmed  with  a 
polished  cuirass,  and  his  griefs  assuaged. 

"There  are  prettier  things  here  than  that,"  said 
Clement,  "  there  are  little  birds ;  lovest  thou  birds  ?  " 

"  Nay.  Ay.  En  um  ittle,  ery  ittle  ?  Not  ike  torks. 
Hate  torks ;  um  bigger  an  baby." 

He  then  confided,  in  very  broken  language,  that  the 
storks,  with  their  great  flapping  wings,  scared  him,  and 
were  a  great  trouble  and  worry  to  him,  darkening  his 
existence  more  or  less. 


1  More  than  one  hermit  had  received  a  present  of  this  kind. 
8  Query  ?    "  looking-glass." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


421 


u  Ay,  but  my  birds  are  very  little,  and  good,  and  oh,  so 
pretty  ! " 

"  Den  I  ikes  'm,"  said  the  child,  authoritatively.  "  I 
ont  my  mammy." 

"  Alas,  sweet  dove !  I  doubt  I  shall  have  to  fill  her 
place  as  best  I  may.  Hast  thou  no  daddy  as  well  as 
mammy,  sweet  one  ?  " 

Now  not  only  was  this  conversation  from  first  to  last, 
the  relative  ages,  situations,  and  all  circumstances  of  the 
parties  considered,  as  strange  a  one  as  ever  took  place 
between  two  mortal  creatures,  but  at  or  within  a  second 
or  two  of  the  hermit's  last  question,  to  turn  the  strange 
into  the  marvellous,  came  an  unseen  witness,  to  whom 
every  word  that  passed  carried  ten  times  the  force  it  did 
to  either  of  the  speakers. 

Since,  therefore,  it  is  with  her  eyes  you  must  now  see, 
and  hear  with  her  ears,  I  go  back  a  step  for  her. 

Margaret,  when  she  ran  past  Gerard,  was  almost  mad. 
She  was  in  that  state  of  mind  in  which  affectionate 
mothers  have  been  known  to  kill  their  children,  some- 
times along  with  themselves,  sometimes  alone,  which  last 
is  certainly  maniacal.  She  ran  to  Eeicht  Heynes  pale 
and  trembling,  and  clasped  her  round  the  neck.  "O 
Eeicht !  0  Eeicht ! "  and  could  say  no  more.  Eeicht 
kissed  her,  and  began  to  whimper;  and,  would  you 
believe  it,  the  great  mastiff  uttered  one  long  whine ; 
even  his  glimmer  of  sense  taught  him  grief  was  afoot. 

"  0  Eeicht ! "  moaned  the  despised  beauty,  as  soon 
as  she  could  utter  a  word  for  choking,  "  see  how  he  has 
served  me ;  "  and  she  showed  her  hands,  that  were  bleed- 
ing with  falling  on  the  stony  ground.  "He  threw  me 
down,  he  was  so  eager  to  fly  from  me.  He  took  me  for  a 
devil ;  he  said  I  came  to  tempt  him.  Am  I  the  woman 
to  tempt  a  man  ?  you  know  me,  Eeicht." 


422 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  Nay,  in  sooth,  sweet  Mistress  Margaret,  the  last  i' 
the  world." 

"And  he  would  not  look  at  my  child.  I'll  fling  myself 
and  him  into  the  Rotter  this  night." 

"  Oh,  fie  !  fie  !  eh,  my  sweet  woman,  speak  not  so.  Is 
any  man  that  breathes  worth  your  child's  life  ?  " 

"  My  child !  where  is  he  ?  Why,  Reicht,  I  have  left 
him  behind.  Oh,  shame !  is  it  possible  I  can  love  him 
to  that  degree  as  to  forget  my  child  ?  Ah  !  I  am  rightly 
served  for  it." 

And  she  sat  down,  and  faithful  Reicht  beside  her,  and 
they  sobbed  in  one  another's  arms. 

After  awhile,  Margaret  left  off  sobbing,  and  said, 
doggedly,  "  Let  us  go  home." 

"  Ay,  but  the  bairn  ?  " 

"  Oh !  he  is  well  where  he  is.  My  heart  is  turned 
against  my  very  child.  He  cares  nought  for  him; 
wouldn't  see  him,  nor  hear  speak  of  him ;  and  I  took 
him  there  so  proud,  and  made  his  hair  so  nice  I  did,  and 
put  his  new  frock  and  cowl  on  him.  Nay,  turn  about ; 
it's  his  child  as  well  as  mine ;  let  him  keep  it  awhile  : 
mayhap  that  will  learn  him  to  think  more  of  its  mother 
and  his  own." 

"High  words  off  an  empty  stomach,"  said  Reicht. 

"Time  will  show.    Come  thou  home." 

They  departed,  and  time  did  show  quicker  than  he 
levels  abbeys,  for  at  the  second  step  Margaret  stopped, 
and  could  neither  go  one  way  nor  the  other,  but  stood 
stock  still. 

"  Reicht,"  said  she,  piteously,  "  what  else  have  I  on 
earth  ?    I  cannot." 

"  Who  ever  said  you  could  ?  Think  you  I  paid  atten- 
tion ?  Words  are  woman's  breath.  Come  back  for  him 
without  more  ado ;  'tis  time  we  were  in  our  beds,  much 
more  he." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  423 


Reicht  led  the  way,  and  Margaret  followed  readily 
enough  in  that  direction;  but,  as  they  drew  near  the 
cell,  she  stopped  again. 

"  Reicht,  go  you  and  ask  him,  will  he  give  me  back  my 
boy ;  for  I  could  not  bear  the  sight  of  him." 

"  Alas  !  mistress,  this  do  seem  a  sorry  ending  after  all 
that  hath  been  betwixt  you  twain.  Bethink  thee  now, 
doth  thine  heart  whisper  no  excuse  for  him  ?  dost  verily 
hate  him  for  whom  thou  hast  waited  so  long  ?  Oh,  weary 
world  ! " 

"  Hate  him,  Reicht  ?  I  would  not  harm  a  hair  of  his 
head  for  all  that  is  in  nature  ;  but  look  on  him  I  cannot ; 
I  have  taken  a  horror  of  him.  Oh  !  when  I  think  of  all 
I  have  suffered  for  him,  and  what  I  came  here  this  night 
to  do  for  him,  and  brought  my  own  darling  to  kiss  him 
and  call  him  father.  Ah,  Luke,  my  poor  chap,  my 
wound  showeth  me  thine.  I  have  thought  too  little  of 
thy  pangs,  whose  true  affection  I  despised  :  and  now  my 
own  is  despised.  Reicht,  if  the  poor  lad  was  here  now, 
he  Avould  have  a  good  chance." 

"Well,  he  is  not  far  off,"  said  Reicht  Heynes;  but, 
somehow,  she  did  not  say  it  with  alacrity. 

"  Speak  not  to  me  of  any  man,"  said  Margaret, 
bitterly,  "I  hate  them  all." 

"For  the  sake  of  one." 

"  Flout  me  not,  but  prithee  go  forward,  and  get  me  what 
is  my  own,  my  sole  joy  in  the  world.  Thou  knowest  I 
am  on  thorns  till  I  have  him  to  my  bosom  again." 

Reicht  went  forward.  Margaret  sat  by  the  roadside 
and  covered  her  face  with  her  apron,  and  rocked  herself 
after  the  manner  of  her  country,  for  her  soul  was  full  of 
bitterness  and  grief.  So  severe,  indeed,  was  the  inter- 
nal conflict,  that  she  did  not  hear  Reicht  running  back  to 
her,  and  started  violently  when  the  young  woman  laid  a 
hand  upon  her  shoulder. 


424  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

"Mistress  Margaret,''  said  Reicht  quietly,  "take  a 
fool's  advice  that  loves  ye.  Go  softly  to  yon  cave,  wi? 
all  the  ears  and  eyes  your  mother  ever  gave  you." 

"  Why  ?  —  what  —  Reicht  ?  "  stammered  Margaret. 

"  I  thought  the  cave  was  afire,  'twas  so  light  inside ; 
and  there  were  voices." 

"  Voices  ?  " 

"  Ay,  not  one,  but  twain,  and  all  unlike,  —  a  man's  and 
a  little  child's,  talking  as  pleasant  as  you  and  me.  I  am 
no  great  hand  at  a  keyhole  for  my  part,  'tis  paltry  work  ; 
but  if  so  be  voices  were  a-talking  in  yon  cave,  and  them 
that  owned  those  voices  were  so  near  to  me  as  those  are 
to  thee,  I'd  go  on  ail  fours  like  a  fox,  and  I'd  crawl  on 
my  belly  like  a  serpent,  ere  I'd  lose  one  word  that  passes 
atwixt  those  twain.'1'' 

"  Whisht,  Reicht !  Bless  thee  !  Bide  thou  here.  Buss 
me  !    Pray  for  me." 

And  almost  ere  the  agitated  words  had  left  her  lips, 
Margaret  was  flying  towards  the  hermitage  as  noise- 
lessly as  a  lapwing.  Arrived  near  it,  she  crouched,  and 
there  was  something  truly  serpentine  in  the  gliding, 
flexible,  noiseless  movements  by  which  she  reached  the 
very  door ;  and  there  she  found  a  chink,  and  listened. 
And  often  it  cost  her  a  struggle  not  to  burst  in  upon 
them  ;  but,  warned  by  defeat,  she  was  cautious,  and  reso- 
lute to  let  well  alone.  And,  after  awhile,  slowly  and 
noiselessly  she  reared  her  head,  like  a  snake  its  crest, 
to  where  she  saw  the  broadest  chink  of  all,  and  looked 
with  all  her  eyes  and  soul,  as  well  as  listened. 

The  little  boy  then  being  asked  whether  he  had  no 
daddy,  at  first  shook  his  head,  and  would  say  nothing, 
but,  being  pressed,  he  suddenly  seemed  to  remember 
something,  and  said  he,  "Dad — da  ill  man;  run  away 
and  leave  poor  mum — ma." 

She  who  heard  this  winced.    It  was  as  new  to  her  as 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  425 


to  Clement.  Some  interfering  foolish  woman  had  gone 
and  said  this  to  the  boy,  and  now  out  it  came  in  Gerard's 
very  face.  His  answer  surprised  her.  He  burst  out, 
"  The  villain  !  the  monster !  he  must  be  born  without 
bowels  to  desert  thee,  sweet  one.  Ah !  he  little  knows 
the  joy  he  hath  turned  his  back  on.  Well,  my  little 
dove,  I  must  be  father  and  mother  to  thee,  since  the  one 
runs  away,  and  t'other  abandons  the  to  my  care.  Now 
to-morrow  I  shall  ask  the  good  people  that  bring  me  nij 
food  to  fetch  some  nice  eggs  and  milk  for  thee  as  well ; 
for  bread  is  good  enough  for  poor  old  good-for-nothing 
me,  but  not  for  thee.  And  I  shall  teach  thee  to  read." 
"  I  can  yead,  I  can  yead." 

"  Ay,  verily,  so  young  ?  all  the  better.  We  will  read 
good  books  together,  and  I  shall  show  thee  the  way  to 
heaven.  Heaven  is  a  beautiful  place,  a  thousand  times 
fairer  and  better  than  earth,  and  there  be  little  cherubs 
like  thyself,  in  white,  glad  to  welcome  thee  and  love 
thee.    Wouldst  like  to  go  to  heaven  one  day  ?  " 

"  Ay,  along  wi'  —  my  —  mammy." 

"  What,  not  without  her  then  ?  " 

"  Nay.    I  ont  my  mammy.    Where  is  my  mammy  ?  " 

(Oh  !  what  it  cost  poor  Margaret  not  to  burst  in  and 
clasp  him  to  her  heart !) 

"  Well,  fret  not,  sweetheart,  mayhap  she  will  come 
when  thou  art  asleep.  Wilt  thou  be  good  now  and 
sleep  ?  " 

"  I  not  eepy.    Ikes  to  talk." 

"  Well,  talk  we  then :  tell  me  thy  pretty  name." 

"Baby."  And  he  opened  his  eyes  with  amazement 
at  this  great  hulking  creature's  ignorance. 

"Hast  none  other?" 

"  Nay." 

"  What  shall  I  do  to  pleasure  thee,  baby  ?  Shall  I 
tell  thee  a  story  ?  99 


426  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  I  ikes  tories,"  said  the  boy,  clapping  his  hands. 

"  Or  sing  thee  a  song  ?  " 

"  I  ikes  tongs  ; "  and  he  became  excited. 

"  Choose  then,  a  song  or  a  story." 

"  Ting  I  a  tong.  Nay,  tell  I  a  tory.  Nay,  ting  I  a 
tong.  Nay  — "  And  the  corners  of  his  little  mouth 
turned  down,  and  he  had  half  a  mind  to  weep  because 
he  could  not  have  both,  and  30uld  not  tell  which  to  fore- 
go. Suddenly  his  little  face  cleared,  "  Ting  I  a  tory," 
said  he. 

"  Sing  thee  a  story,  baby  ?    Well,  after  all,  why  not  ? 
And  wilt  thou  sit  o'  my  knee  and  hear  it  ?  " 
"Yea." 

"Then  I  must  e'en  doff  this  breastplate :  'tis  too  hard 
for  thy  soft  cheek.  So.  And  now  I  must  doff  this 
bristly  cilice  :  they  would  prick  thy  tender  skin,  perhaps 
make  it  bleed,  as  they  have  me,  I  see.  So.  And  now  I 
put  on  my  best  pelisse,  in  honor  of  thy  worshipful  visit. 
See  how  soft  and  warm  it  is  ;  bless  the  good  soul  that 
sent  it ;  and  now  I  sit  me  down ;  so.  And.  I  take  thee 
on  my  left  knee,  and  put  my  arm  under  thy  little  head ; 
so.  And  then  the  psaltery,  and  play  a  little  tune ;  so, 
not  too  loud." 

"  I  ikes  dat.' 

"  I  am  right  glad  on't.    Now  list  the  story." 

He  chanted  a  child's  story  in  a  sort  of  recitative, 
singing  a  little  moral  refrain  now  and  then.  The  boy 
listened  with  rapture. 

"  I  ikes  oo,"  said  he.    "  Ot  is  oo  ?  is  oo  a  man  ?  " 

"  Ay,  little  heart,  and  a  great  sinner  to  boot." 

"  I  ikes  great  tingers.    Ting  one  other  tory." 

Story  No.  2  was  chanted. 

"I  ubbs  oo,"  cried  the  child,  impetuously.  "Ot  caft1 
is  oo  ?  " 

1  Craft.   He  means  trade  or  profession 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  427 


"  I  am  a  hermit,  love." 

"I  ubbs  vermins.    Ting  other  one." 

But  during  this  final  performance,  Nature  suddenly 
held  out  her  leaden  sceptre  over  the  youthful  eyelids. 
"  I  is  not  eepy,"  whined  he  very  faintly,  and  succumbed. 

Clement  laid  down  the  psaltery  softly  and  began  to 
rock  his  new  treasure  in  his  arms,  and  to  croon  over  him 
a  little  lullaby  well  known  in  Tergou,  with  which  his 
own  mother  had  often  set  him  off. 

And  the  child  sank  into  a  profound  sleep  upon  his 
arm.  And  he  stopped  crooning  and  gazed  on  him  with 
infinite  tenderness,  yet  sadness  ;  for,  at  that  moment,  he 
could  not  help  thinking  what  might  have  been  but  for  a 
piece  of  paper  with  a  lie  in  it. 

He  sighed  deeply. 

The  next  moment  the  moonlight  burst  into  his  cell, 
and  with  it,  and  in  it,  and  almost  as  swift  as  it,  Margaret 
Brandt  was  down  at  his  knee  with  a  timorous  hand  upon 
his  shoulder. 

"  Gerard,  you  do  not  reject  us.    You  cannot." 


428 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

The  startled  hermit  glared  from  his  nursling  to  Mar< 
garet,  and  from  her  to  him,  in  amazement  equalled  only 
by  his  agitation  at  her  so  unexpected  return.  The  child 
lay  asleep  on  his  left  arm,  and  she  was  at  his  right  knee : 
no  longer  the  pale,  scared,  panting  girl  he  had  overpow- 
ered so  easily  an  hour  or  two  ago,  but  an  imperial  beauty 
with  blushing  cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes,  and  lips  sweetly 
parted  in  triumph,  and  her  whole  face  radiant  with  a 
look  he  could  not  quite  read;  for  he  had  never  yet  seen 
it  on  her  ;  maternal  pride. 

He  stared  and  stared  from  the  child  to  her,  in  throb- 
bing amazement. 

"  Us  ? "  he  gasped  at  last.  And  still  his  wonder- 
stricken  eyes  turned  to  and  fro. 

Margaret  was  surprised  in  her  turn.  It  was  an  age  of 
impressions,  not  facts.  "  What !  "  she  cried,  "  doth  not 
a  father  know  his  own  child  ?  and  a  man  of  God,  too  ? 
Fie,  Gerard,  to  pretend !  nay,  thou  art  too  wise,  too 
good,  not  to  have  —  why,  I  watched  thee  ;  and  e'en  now 
look  at  you  twain  !  JTis  thine  own  flesh  and  blood  thou 
holdest  to  thine  heart." 

Clement  trembled.  "  What  words  are  these,"  he  stam- 
mered, "  this  angel  mine  ?  " 

"  Whose  else  ?  since  he  is  mine." 

Clement  turned  on  the  sleeping  child  with  a  look 
beyond  the  power  of  the  pen  to  describe,  and  trembled 
all  over  as  his  eyes  seemed  to  absorb  the  little  love. 

Margaret's  eyes  followed  his.  "  He  is  not  a  bit  like 
me,"  said  she  proudly ;  "  but  oh !  at  whiles  he  is  thy 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  429 

very  image  in  little ;  and  see  this  golden  hair.  Thine 
was  the  very  color  at  his  age  ;  ask  mother  else.  And 
see  this  mole  on  his  little  finger :  now  look  at  thine  own  ; 
there  !  'Twas  thy  mother  let  me  weet  thou  wast  marked 
so  before  him ;  and,  0  Gerard,  'twas  this  our  child 
found  thee  for  me  ;  for  by  that  little  mark  on  thy  finger 
I  knew  thee  for  his  father,  when  I  watched  above  thy 
window  and  saw  thee  feed  the  birds."  Here  she  seized 
the  child's  hand  and  kissed  it  eagerly,  and  got  half  of  it 
into  her  mouth,  Heaven  knows  how.  "  Ah,  bless  thee  ! 
thou  didst  find  thy  poor  daddy  for  her,  and  now  thou 
hast  made  us  friends  again  after  our  little  quarrel :  the 
first,  the  last.  Wast  very  cruel  to  me  but  now,  my  poor 
Gerard,  and  I  forgive  thee,  for  loving  of  thy  child." 

"  Ah !  ah !  ah  !  ah !  ah  ! "  sobbed  Clement  choking. 

And  lowered  by  fasts,  and  unnerved  by  solitude,  the 
once  strong  man  was  hysterical,  and  nearly  fainting. 

Margaret  Avas  alarmed,  but,  having  experience,  her 
pity  was  greater  than  her  fear.  "  Nay,  take  not  on  so," 
she  murmured  soothingly,  and  put  a  gentle  hand  upon 
his  brow.  "Be  brave!  So,  so.  Dear  heart,  thou  art 
not  the  first  man  that  hath  gone  abroad,  and  come  back 
richer  by  a  lovely  little  self  than  he  went  forth.  Being 
a  man  of  God,  take  courage,  and  say  He  sends  thee  this 
to  comfort  thee  for  what  thou  hast  lost  in  me  ;  and  that 
is  not  so  very  much,  my  lamb,  for  sure  the  better  part  of 
love  shall  ne'er  cool  here  to  thee,  though  it  may  in  thine, 
and  ought,  being  a  priest,  and  parson  of  Gouda." 

"  I  ?  priest  of  Gouda  ?  Ne  ver  ! "  murmured  Clement 
in  a  faint  voice.  "  I  am  a  friar  of  St.  Dominic ;  yet 
speak  on,  sweet  music,  tell  me  all  that  has  happened 
thee,  before  we  are  parted  again." 

Now  some  would  on  this  have  exclaimed  against  part- 
ing at  all,  and  raised  the  true  question  in  dispute.  But 
sueh  women  as  Margaret  do  not  repeat  their  mistakes. 


430  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


It  is  very  hard  to  defeat  thern  twice,  where  their  hearts 
are  set  on  a  thing. 

She  assented,  and  turned  her  back  on  Gouda  manse  as 
a  thing  not  to  be  recurred  to  ;  and  she  told  him  her  tale, 
dwelling  above  all  on  the  kindness  to  her  of  his  parents ; 
and,  while  she  related  her  troubles,  his  hand  stole  to  hers, 
and  often  she  felt  him  wince  and  tremble  with  ire,  and 
often  press  her  hand,  sympathizing  with  her  in  every  vein. 

"  Oh,  piteous  tale  of  a  true  heart  battling  alone  against 
such  bitter  odds  ! "  said  he. 

"It  all  seems  small,  when  I  see  thee  here  again,  and 
nursing  my  boy.  We  have  had  a  warning,  Gerard. 
True  friends  like  you  and  me  are  rare,  and  they  are  mad 
to  part  ere  death  divideth  them." 

"  And  that  is  true,"  said  Clement  off  his  guard. 

And  then  she  would  have  him  tell  her  what  he  had 
suffered  for  her,  and  he  begged  her  to  excuse  him,  and 
she  consented,  but  by  questions  quietly  revoked  her  con- 
sent and  elicited  it  all ;  and  many  a  sigh  she  heaved  for 
him,  and  more  than  once  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands 
with  terror  at  his  perils,  though  past. 

And  to  console  him  for  all  he  had  gone  through,  she 
kneeled  down  and  put  her  arms  under  the  little  boy,  and 
lifted  him  gently  up.  "  Kiss  him  softly,"  she  whis- 
pered. "  Again,  again ;  kiss  thy  fill  if  thou  canst ;  he 
is  sound.  ;Tis  all  I  can  do  to  comfort  thee  till  thou  art 
out  of  this  foul  den  and  in  thy  sweet  manse  yonder." 

Clement  shook  his  head. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  let  that  pass.    Know  that  I  have 
been  sore  affronted  for  want  of  my  lines." 
"  Who  hath  dared  affront  thee  ?  " 

"  No  matter ;  those  that  will  do  it  again  if  thou  hast 
lost  them,  which  the  saints  forbid." 

"  I  lose  them  ?  nay,  there  they  lie,  close  to  thy  hand." 
"  Where,  where,  oh  where  ?  " 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  431 


Clement  hung  his  head.  "Look  in  the  Vulgate. 
Heaven  forgive  me :  I  thought  thou  wert  dead,  and  a 
saint  in  heaven." 

She  looked,  and  on  the  blank  leaves  of  the  poor  soul's 
Vulgate  she  found  her  marriage  lines. 

"Thank  God!"  she  cried,  "thank  God!  Oh,  bless 
thee,  Gerard,  bless  thee  !    Why,  what  is  here,  Gerard  ?  " 

On  the  other  leaves  were  pinned  every  scrap  of  paper 
she  had  ever  sent  him,  and  their  two  names  she  had  once 
written  together  in  sport,  and  the  lock  of  her  hair  she 
had  given  him,  and  half  a  silver  coin  she  had  broken 
with  him,  and  a  straw  she  had  sucked  her  soup  with  the 
first  day  he  ever  saw  her. 

When  Margaret  saw  these  proofs  of  love  and  signs  of 
a  gentle  heart  bereaved,  even  her  exultation  at  getting 
back  her  marriage  lines  was  overpowered  by  gushing  ten- 
derness. She  almost  staggered,  and  her  hand  went  to 
her  bosom,  and  she  leaned  her  brow  against  the  stone 
cell  and  wept  so  silently  that  he  did  not  see  she  was 
weeping ;  indeed,  she  would  not  let  him,  for  she  felt 
that  to  befriend  him  now  she  must  be  the  stronger ;  and 
emotion  weakens. 

"  Gerard,"  said  she,  "  I  know  you  are  wise  and  good. 
You  must  have  a  reason  for  what  you  are  doing,  let  it 
seem  ever  so  unreasonable.  Talk  we  like  old  friends. 
Why  are  you  buried  alive  ?  " 

"Margaret,  to  escape  temptation.  My  impious  ire 
against  those  two  had  its  root  in  the  heart ;  that  heart, 
then,  I  must  deaden ;  and,  Dei  gratia,  I  shall.  Shall  I, 
a  servant  of  Christ  and  of  the  Church,  court  temptation  ? 
Shall  I  pray  daily  to  be  led  out  on't,  and  walk  into  it 
with  open  eyes  ?  " 

"  That  is  good  sense  any  way,"  said  Margaret,  with  a 
consummate  affectation  of  candor. 

"  'Tis  unanswerable,"  said  Clement,  with  a  sigh. 


432 


THE  CLOISTEK  ASD  THE  HEARTH. 


"  We  shall  see.  Tell  me,  have  you  escaped  temptation 
here  ?  Why  I  ask  is,  when  /  am  alone,  my  thoughts  are 
far  more  wild  and  foolish  than  in  company.  Nay,  speak 
sooth  ;  come  ! " 

"  I  must  needs  own  I  have  been  worse  tempted  here 
with  evil  imaginations  than  in  the  world." 

"  There  now." 

"  Ay,  but  so  were  Anthony  and  Jerome,  Macarius  and 
Hilarion,  Benedict,  Bernard,  and  all  the  saints.  'Twill 
wear  off." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  feel  sure  it  will." 

"  Guessing  against  knowledge.  Here  'tis  men-folk  are 
sillier  than  us  that  be  but  women.  Wise  in  their  own 
conceits,  they  will  not  let  themselves  see  ;  their  stomachs 
are  too  high  to  be  taught  by  their  eyes.  A  woman,  if  she 
went  into  a  hole  in  a  bank  to  escape  temptation,  and  there 
found  it,  would  just  lift  her  farthingale  and  out  on't,  and 
not  e'en  know  how  wise  she  was,  till  she  watched  a  man 
in  like  plight." 

"  Nay,  I  grant  humility  and  a  teachable  spirit  are  the 
roads  to  wisdom ;  but,  when  all  is  said,  here  I  wrestle 
but  with  imagination.  At  Gouda  she  I  love  as  no  priest 
or  monk  must  love  any  but  the  angels,  she  will  tempt  a 
weak  soul,  unwilling,  yet  not  loath,  to  be  tempted." 

"  Ay,  that  is  another  matter ;  /  should  tempt  thee, 
then  ?  to  what,  i'  God's  name  ?  " 

"  Who  knows  ?    The  flesh  is  weak." 

"  Speak  for  yourself,  my  lad.  Why,  you  are  thinking 
of  some  other  Margaret,  not  Margaret  a  Peter.  Was  ever 
my  mind  turned  to  folly  and  frailty  ?  Stay,  is  it  because 
you  were  my  husband  once,  as  these  lines  avouch  ?  Think 
you  the  road  to  folly  is  beaten  for  you  more  than  for  an- 
other ?  Oh  !  how  shallow  are  the  wise,  and  how  little 
able  are  you  to  read  me,  who  can  read  you  so  well  from 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  433 


top  to  toe.  Come,  learn  thy  ABC.  Were  a  stranger  to 
proffer  me  unchaste  love,  I  should  shrink  a  bit,  no  doubt, 
and  feel  sore,  but  I  should  defend  myself  without  making 
a  coil ;  for  men,  I  know,  are  so,  the  best  of  them  some- 
times. But  if  you,  that  have  been  my  husband,  and  are 
my  child's  father,  were  to  offer  to  humble  me  so  in  mine 
own  eyes,  and  thine,  and  his,  either  I  should  spit  in  thy 
face,  Gerard,  or,  as  I  am  not  a  downright  vulgar  woman, 
I  should  snatch  the  first  weapon  at  hand  and  strike  thee 
dead." 

And  Margaret's  eyes  flashed  fire,  and  her  nostrils 
expanded,  that  it  was  glorious  to  see  ;  and  no  one  that 
did  see  her  could  doubt  her  sincerity. 

"I  had  not  the  sense  to  see  that,"  said  Gerard,  quietly. 
And  he  pondered. 

Margaret  eyed  him  in  silence,  and  soon  recovered  her 
composure. 

"  Let  not  you  and  I  dispute,"  said  she,  gently  j  "  speak 
we  of  other  things.    Ask  me  of  thy  folk." 
"My  father?" 

"  Well,  and  warms  to  thee  and  me.  Poor  soul,  a  drew 
glaive  on  those  twain  that  day,  but  Jorian  Ketel  and  I 
we  mastered  him,  and  he  drove  them  forth  his  house  for- 
ever." 

"  That  may  not  be  ;  he  must  take  them  back." 

"  That  he  will  never  do  for  us.  You  know  the  man ; 
he  is  dour  as  iron :  yet  would  he  do  it  for  one  word  from 
one  that  will  not  speak  it." 

"Who?" 

"The  Vicar  of  Gouda.  The  old  man  will  be  at  the 
manse  to-morrow,  I  hear." 

"How  you  come  back  to  that." 

"Forgive  me  :  I  am  but  a  woman.    It  is  us  for  nagging ; 
shouldst  keep  me  from  it  wi'  questioning  of  me." 
"My  sister  Kate?" 
28 


434 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"Alas!" 

"  What,  hath  ill  befallen  e'en  that  sweet  lily  ?  Out 
and  alas  ! " 

"  Be  calm,  sweetheart ;  no  harm  hath  her  befallen. 
Oh,  nay,  nay,  far  fro'  that."  Then  Margaret  forced 
herself  to  be  composed,  and  in  a  low,  sweet,  gentle 
voice  she  murmured  to  him  thus:  "My  poor  Gerard, 
Kate  hath  left  her  trouble  behind  her.  For  the  manner 
on't,  'twas  like  the  rest.  Ah  !  such  as  she  saw  never 
thirty,  nor  ever  shall  while  earth  shall  last.  She  smiled 
in  pain  too.  A  well,  then,  thus  'twas  :  she  was  took  wi' 
a  langour  and  a  loss  of  all  her  pains." 

"A  loss  of  her  pains  ?    I  understand  you  not." 

"Ay,  you  are  not  experienced  ;  indeed,  e'en  thy  mother 
almost  blinded  herself,  and  said,  ''tis  maybe  a  change  for 
the  better.'  But  Joan  Ketel,  which  is  an  understanding 
woman,  she  looked  at  her  and  said,  'Down  sun,  down 
wind  ! '  And  the  gossips  sided  and  said,  'Be  brave,  you 
that  are  her  mother,  for  she  is  half  way  to  the  saints.' 
And  thy  mother  wept  sore,  but  Kate  would  not  let  her ; 
and  one  very  ancient  woman,  she  said  to  thy  mother, 
1  She  will  die  as  easy  as  she  lived  hard.'  And  she  lay 
painless  best  part  of  three  days,  a-sipping  of  heaven 
aforehand.  And,  my  dear,  when  she  was  just  parting, 
she  asked  for  '  Gerard's  little  boy,'  and  I  brought  him 
and  set  him  on  the  bed,  and  the  little  thing  behaved  as 
peaceably  as  he  does  now.  But  by  this  time  she  was 
past  speaking  :  but  she  pointed  to  a  drawer,  and  her 
mother  knew  what  to  look  for :  it  was  two  gold  angels 
thou  hadst  given  her  years  ago.  Poor  soul !  she  had 
kept  them  till  thou  shouldst  come  home.  And  she 
nodded  towards  the  little  boy,  and  looked  anxious :  but 
we  understood  her,  and  put  the  pieces  in  his  two  hands  ; 
and,  when  his  little  fingers  closed  on  them,  she  smiled 
content.    And  so  she  gave  her  little  earthly  treasures  to 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  435 


her  favorite's  child  —  for  you  were  her  favorite  —  and  her 
immortal  jewel  to  God,  and  passed  so  sweetly  we  none  of 
us  knew  justly  when  she  left  us.  Well-a-day,  well-a-day ! " 
Gerard  wept. 

"  She  hath  not  left  her  like  on  earth/'  he  sobbed.  "  Oh, 
how  the  affections  of  earth  curl  softly  round  my  heart ! 
I  cannot  help  it :  God  made  them  after  all.  Speak  on, 
sweet  Margaret ;  at  thy  voice  the  past  rolls  its  tides 
back  upon  me  ;  the  loves  and  the  hopes  of  youth  come 
fair  and  gliding  into  my  dark  cell,  and  darker  bosom,  on 
waves  of  memory  and  music." 

"  Gerard,  I  am  loath  to  grieve  you,  but  Kate  cried  a 
little  when  she  first  took  ill,  at  you  not  being  there  to 
close  her  eyes." 

Gerard  sighed. 

"You  were  within  a  league,  but  hid  your  face  from 
her." 

He  groaned. 

"  There,  forgive  me  for  nagging  ;  I  am  but  a  woman  : 
you  would  not  have  been  so  cruel  to  your  own  flesh  and 
blood  knowingly,  would  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no." 

"Well  then,  know  that  thy  brother  Sybrandt  lies  in 
my  charge  with  a  broken  back,  fruit  of  thy  curse." 
"Mea  culpa  /  mea  culpa  !  " 

"  He  is  very  penitent ;  be  yourself  and  forgive  him 
this  night." 

"I  have  forgiven  him  long  ago." 

"  Think  you  he  can  believe  that  from  any  mouth  but 
yours  ?    Come  !  he  is  but  two  butts'  length  hence." 
"  So  near  ?    Why,  where  ?  " 

"  At  Gouda  manse.  I  took  him  there  yestreen.  For 
I  know  you  ;  the  curse  was  scarce  cold  on  your  lips  when 
you  repented  it  (Gerard  nodded  assent),  and  I  said  to 
myself,  Gerard  will  thank  me  for  taking  Sybrandt  to  die 


436 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


under  his  roof ;  he  will  not  beat  his  breast  and  cry  mea 
culpa,  yet  grudge  three  footsteps  to  quiet  a  withered 
brother  on  his  last  bed.  He  may  have  a  bee  in  his 
bonnet,  but  he  is  not  a  hypocrite  :  a  thing  all  pious 
words  and  uncharitable  deeds." 

Gerard  literally  staggered  where  he  sat  at  this  tremen- 
dous thrust. 

"Forgive  me  for  nagging,'7  said  she.  "Thy  mother, 
too,  is  waiting  for  thee.  Is  it  well  done  to  keep  her  on 
thorns  so  long  ?  She  will  not  sleep  this  night.  Bethink 
thee,  Gerard,  she  is  all  to  thee  that  I  am  to  this  sweet 
child.  Ah,  I  think  so  much  more  of  mothers  since  I  had 
my  little  Gerard !  She  suffered  for  thee,  and  nursed  thee, 
and  tended  thee  from  boy  to  man.  Priest,  monk,  hermit, 
call  thyself  what  thou  wilt,  to  her  thou  art  but  one  thing  : 
her  child." 

"  Where  is  she  ?  "  murmured  Gerard,  in  a  quavering 
voice. 

"At  Gouda  manse,  wearing  the  night  in  prayer  and 
care." 

Then  Margaret  saw  the  time  was  come  for  that  appeal 
to  his  reason  she  had  purposely  reserved  till  persuasion 
should  have  paved  the  way  for  conviction.  So  the  smith 
first  softens  the  iron  by  fire ;  and  then  brings  down  the 
sledge  hammer. 

She  showed  him,  but  in  her  own  good  straightforward 
Dutch,  that  his  present  life  was  only  a  higher  kind  of 
selfishness  ;  spiritual  egotism.  Whereas  a  priest  had  no 
more  right  to  care  only  for  his  own  soul  than  only  for  his 
own  body.  That  was  not  his  path  to  heaven.  "  But," 
said  she,  "  who  ever  yet  lost  his  soul  by  saving  the  souls 
of  others  ?  the  Almighty  loves  him  who  thinks  of  others, 
and  when  He  shall  see  thee  caring  for  the  souls  of  the 
folk  the  duke  hath  put  into  thine  hand,  He  will  care  ten 
times  more  for  thy  soul  than  He  does  now/' 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


437 


Gerard  was  struck  by  this  remark.  "  Art  shrewd  in 
dispute,"  said  he. 

"  Far  from  it,"  was  the  reply ;  "  only  my  eyes  are  not 
bandaged  with  conceit.1  So  long  as  Satan  walks  the 
whole  earth,  tempting  men,  and  so  long  as  the  sons  of 
Belial  do  never  lock  themselves  in  caves,  but  run  like 
ants,  to  and  fro,  corrupting  others,  the  good  man  that 
skulks  apart,  plays  the  devil's  game,  or  at  least  gives  him 
the  odds.  Thou  a  soldier  of  Christ  ?  ask  thy  comrade 
Denys,  who  is  but  a  soldier  of  the  duke,  ask  him  if  ever 
he  skulked  in  a  hole  and  shunned  the  battle  because  for- 
sooth in  battle  is  danger  as  well  as  glory  and  duty.  For 
thy  sole  excuse  is  fear  ;  thou  makest  no  secret  on't.  Go 
to ;  no  duke  nor  king  hath  such  cowardly  soldiers  as 
Christ  hath.  What  was  that  you  said  in  the  church  at 
Rotterdam  about  the  man  in  the  parable,  that  buried  his 
talent  in  the  earth  and  so  offended  the  giver  ?  Thy  won- 
derful gift  for  preaching,  is  it  not  a  talent,  and  a  gift 
from  thy  Creator  ?  " 

"  Certes  ;  such  as  it  is." 

"  And  hast  thou  laid  it  out,  or  buried  it  ?  To  whom 
hast  thou  preached  these  seven  months  ?  to  bats  and 
owls  ?  Hast  buried  it  in  one  hole  with  thyself  and  thy 
once  good  wits  ? 

"The  Dominicans  are  the  friars  preachers.  ?Tis  for 
preaching  they  were  founded ;  so  thou  art  false  to  Dom- 
inic as  well  as  to  his  Master. 

"Do  you  remember,  Gerard,  when  we  were  young 
together,  which  now  are  old  before  our  time,  as  we 
walked  handed  in  the  fields,  did  you  but  see  a  sheep 
cast,  ay,  three  fields  off,  you  would  leave  your  sweet- 
heart (by  her  good  will),  and  run  and  lift  the  sheep  for 
charity  ?  Well  then,  at  Gouda  is  not  one  sheep  in  evil 
plight,  but  a  whole  flock  ;  some  cast,  some  strayed,  some 

1  I  think  she  means  prejudice. 


438 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


sick,  some  tainted,  some  a  being  devoured,  and  all  for  the 
want  of  a  shepherd.  Where  is  their  shepherd  ?  lurking 
in  a  den  like  a  wolf  ;  a  den  in  his  own  parish.  Out,  fie  ! 
out,  fie ! 

"  I  scented  thee  out,  in  part,  by  thy  kindness  to  the 
little  birds.  Take  note,  you  Gerard  Eliassoen  must  love 
something ;  'tis  in  your  blood  ;  you  were  born  to't.  Shun- 
ning man,  you  do  but  seek  earthly  affection  a  peg  lower 
than  man." 

Gerard  interrupted  her.  "  The  birds  are  God's  creat- 
ures, His  innocent  creatures,  and  I  do  well  to  love  them, 
being  God's  creatures." 

"  What,  are  they  creatures  of  the  same  God  that  we 
are,  that  he  is  who  lies  upon  thy  knee  ?  " 

"  You  know  they  are." 

"  Then  what  pretence  for  shunning  us  and  being  kind 
to  them  ?  Sith  man  is  one  of  the  animals,  why  pick  him 
out  to  shun  ?  Is't  because  he  is  of  animals  the  paragon  ? 
What,  you  court  the  young  of  birds,  and  abandon  your 
own  young  ?  Birds  need  but  bodily  food,  and,  having 
wings,  deserve  scant  pity  if  they  cannot  fly  and  find  it. 
But  that  sweet  dove  upon  thy  knee,  he  needeth  not  carnal 
only,  but  spiritual  food.  He  is  thine  as  well  as  mine  : 
and  I  have  done  my  share.  He  will  soon  be  too  much 
for  me,  and  I  look  to  Gouda's  parson  to  teach  him  true 
piety  and  useful  lore.  Is  he  not  of  more  value  than 
many  sparrows  ?  " 

Gerard  started  and  stammered  an  affirmation.  For 
she  waited  for  his  reply. 

"  You  wonder,"  continued  she,  "  to  hear  me  quote  Holy 
WTrit  so  glib.  I  have  pored  over  it  this  four  years,  and 
why  ?  Not  because  God  wrote  it,  but  because  I  saw  it 
often  in  thy  hands  ere  thou  didst  leave  me.  Heaven 
forgive  me  ;  I  am  but  a  woman.  What  thinkest  thou  of 
this  sentence  ?    1  Let  your  light  so  shine  before  men 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH,  439 

that  they  may  see  your  good  works  and  glorify  your 
Father  which  is  in  heaven  ! '  What  is  a  saint  in  a  sink 
better  than  i  a  light  under  a  bushel '  ? 

"  Therefore,  since  the  sheep  committed  to  thy  charge 
bleat  for  thee  and  cry  :  1  Oh,  desert  us  no  longer,  but 
come  to  Gouda  manse  ; '  since  I,  who  know  thee  ten 
times  better  than  thou  knowest  thyself,  do  pledge  my 
soul  it  is  for  thy  soul's  weal  to  go  to  Gouda  manse,  — 
since  duty  to  thy  child,  too  long  abandoned,  calls  thee  to 
Gouda  manse,  —  since  thy  sovereign,  whom  Holy  Writ 
again  bids  thee  honor,  sends  thee  to  Gouda  manse,  — 
since  the  Pope,  whom  the  Church  teaches  thee  to  re- 
vere, hath  absolved  thee  of  thy  monkish  vows,  and  orders 
thee  to  Gouda  manse  "  — 

"Ah?" 

"Since  thy  gray-haired  mother  watches  for  thee  in 
dole  and  care,  and  turneth  oft  the  hour-glass  and  sigheth 
sore  that  thou  comest  so  slow  to  her  at  Gouda  manse,  — 
since  thy  brother,  withered  by  thy  curse,  awaits  thy  for- 
giveness and  thy  prayers  for  his  soul,  now  lingering  in 
his  body,  at  Gouda  manse,  —  take  thou  up  in  thine  arms 
the  sweet  bird  wi'  crest  of  gold  that  nestles  to  thy  bosom, 
and  give  me  thy  hand ;  thy  sweetheart  erst  and  wife, 
and  now  thy  friend,  the  truest  friend  to  thee  this  night 
that  ere  man  had  ;  and  come  with  me  to  Gouda  manse  !  " 

"  It  is  the  voice  of  an  angel ! "  cried  Clement  loudly. 

"  Then  hearken  it,  and  come  forth  to  Gouda  manse  !  " 

The  battle  was  won. 

Margaret  lingered  behind,  cast  her  eye  rapidly  round 
the  furniture,  and  selected  the  Vulgate  and  the  psaltery. 
The  rest  she  sighed  at  and  let  it  lie.  The  breastplate 
and  the  cilice  of  bristles  she  took  and  dashed  with  feeble 
ferocity  on  the  floor.  Then,  seeing  Gerard  watch  her 
with  surprise  from  the  outside,  she  colored  and  said :  "  J 
am  but  a  woman :  <  little '  will  still  be  1  spiteful/  " 


440  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  Why  encumber  thyself  with  those  ?  They  are  safe." 
"  Oh,  she  had  a  reason." 

And  with  this  they  took  the  road  to  Gouda  parsonage. 
The  moon  and  stars  were  so  bright,  it  seemed  almost  as 
light  as  day. 

Suddenly  Gerard  stopped.    "  My  poor  little  birds  ! " 
"  What  of  them  ?  " 

"  They  will  miss  their  food.    I  feed  them  every  day." 

"The  child  hath  a  piece  of  bread  in  his  cowl.  Take 
that  and  feed  them  now,  against  the  morn." 

"  I  will.  Nay,  I  will  not.  He  is  as  innocent,  and 
nearer  to  me  and  to  thee." 

Margaret  drew  a  long  breath.  "Tis  well.  Hadst 
taken  it,  I  might  have  hated  thee  ;  I  am  but  a  woman." 

When  they  had  gone  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  Gerard 
sighed.  "  Margaret,"  said  he,  "  I  must  e'en  rest ;  he  is 
too  heavy  for  me." 

"  Then  give  him  me,  and  take  thou  these.  Alas,  alas  ! 
I  mind  when  thou  wouldst  have  run  with  the  child  on 
one  shoulder,  and  the  mother  on  t'other." 

And  Margaret  carried  the  boy. 

"  I  trow,"  said  Gerard,  looking  down,  "  overmuch  fast- 
ing is  not  good  for  a  man." 

"  A  many  die  of  it  each  year,  winter  time,"  replied 
Margaret. 

Gerard  pondered  these  simple  words,  and  eyed  her 
askant,  carrying  the  child  with  perfect  ease.  When 
they  had  gone  nearly  a  mile,  he  said,  with  considerable 
surprise  :  "  You  thought  it  was  but  two  butts'  length." 

"  Not  I." 

"  Why,  you  said  so." 

"  That  is  another  matter."  She  then  turned  on  him 
the  face  of  a  Madonna.  "I  lied,"  said  she  sweetly. 
"  And  to  save  your  soul  and  body,  I'd  maybe  tell  a  worse 
lie  than  that,  at  need.  I  am  but  a  woman.  Ah,  well,  it 
is  but  two  butts'  length  from  here  at  any  rate." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  441 


«  Without  a  lie  ?  " 
"  Humph  !    Three,  without  a  lie." 
And  sure  enough,  in  a  few  minutes  they  came  up  to 
the  manse. 

A  candle  was  burning  in  the  vicar's  parlor.  "  She  is 
waking  still,"  whispered  Margaret. 

"  Beautiful !  beautiful ! "  said  Clement,  and  stopped  to 
look  at  it. 

"  What,  in  Heaven's  name  ?  " 

"That  little  candle,  seen  through  the  window  at  night. 
Look  an  it  be  not  like  some  fair  star  of  size  prodigious : 
it  delighteth  the  eyes  and  warmeth  the  heart  of  those 
outside." 

"Come,  and  I'll  show  thee  something  better,"  said 
Margaret,  and  led  him  on  tiptoe  to  the  window. 

They  looked  in,  and  there  was  Catherine  kneeling  on 
the  hassock,  with  her  "  hours  "  before  her. 

"Folk  can  pray  out  of  a  cave,"  whispered  Margaret. 
"  Ay,  and  hit  heaven  with  their  prayers.  For  'tis  for  a  sight 
of  thee  she  prayeth ;  and  thou  art  here.  Now,  Gerard, 
be  prepared  :  she  is  not  the  woman  you  knew  her ;  her 
children's  troubles  have  greatly  broken  the  brisk,  light- 
hearted  soul.  And  I  see  she  has  been  weeping  e'en  now  5 
she  will  have  given  thee  up,  being  so  late." 

"  Let  me  get  to  her,"  said  Clement,  hastily,  trembling 
all  over. 

"  That  door  !    I  will  bide  here." 

When  Gerard  was  gone  to  the  door,  Margaret,  fearing 
the  sudden  surprise,  gave  one  sharp  tap  at  the  window 
and  cried :  "  Mother ! "  in  a  loud,  expressive  voice  that 
Catherine  read  at  once.  She  clasped  her  hands  together 
and  had  half  risen  from  her  kneeling  posture,  when  the 
door  burst  open  and  Clement  flung  himself  wildly  on  his 
knees  at  her  knees,  with  his  arms  out  to  embrace  her. 
She  uttered  a  cry  such  as  only  a  mother  could.    "  Ah  ! 


442  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

my  darling,  my  darling  ! "  And  clung  sobbing  round 
his  neck.  And  true  it  was,  she  saw  neither  a  hermit,  a 
priest,  nor  a  monk,  but  just  her  child,  lost,  and  despaired 
of,  and  in  her  arms.  And  after  a  little  while  Margaret 
came  in,  with  wet  eyes  and  cheeks,  and  a  holy  calm  of 
affection  settled  by  degrees  on  these  sore  troubled  ones. 
And  they  sat  all  three  together,  hand  in  hand,  murmur- 
ing sweet  and  loving  converse  ;  and  he  who  sat  in  the 
middle  drank  right  and  left  their  true  affection  and  their 
humble  but  genuine  wisdom,  and  was  forced  to  eat  a  good 
nourishing  meal,  and  at  daybreak  was  packed  off  to  a 
snowy  bed,  and  by-and-by  awoke,  as  from  a  hideous 
dream,  friar  and  hermit  no  more,  Clement  no  more,  but 
Gerard  Eliassoen,  parson  of  Gouda. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


443 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

Margaret  went  back  to  Rotterdam  long  ere  Gerard 
awoke,  and  actually  left  her  boy  behind  her.  She  sent 
the  faithful,  sturdy  Reicht  off  to  Gouda  directly  with  a 
vicar's  gray  frock  and  large  felt  hat,  and  with  minute 
instructions  how  to  govern  her  new  master. 

Then  she  went  to  Jorian  Ketel ;  for  she  said  to  her- 
self, "  he  is  the  closest  I  ever  met,  so  he  is  the  man  for 
me,"  and  in  concert  with  him  she  did  two  mortal  sly 
things  ;  yet  not,  in  my  opinion,  virulent,  though  she 
thought  they  were ;  but  if  I  am  asked  what  were  these 
deeds  without  a  name,  the  answer  is,  that  as  she,  "  who 
was  'but  a  woman,'  kept  them  secret  till  her  dying  day, 
I,  who  am  a  man,  —  verbum  non  amplius  addam." 

She  kept  away  from  Gouda  parsonage. 

Things  that  pass  little  noticed  in  the  heat  of  argument, 
sometimes  rankle  afterwards  ;  and,  when  she  came  to  go 
over  all  that  had  passed,  she  was  offended  at  Gerard's 
thinking  she  could  ever  forget  the  priest  in  the  some- 
time lover.  "  For  what  did  he  take  me  ? "  said  she. 
And  this  raised  a  great  shyness  which  really  she  would 
not  otherwise  have  felt,  being  downright  innocent.  And 
pride  sided  with  modesty,  and  whispered  "  Go  no  more 
to  Gouda  parsonage." 

She  left  little  Gerard  there  to  complete  the  conquest 
her  maternal  heart  ascribed  to  him,  not  to  her  own  elo- 
quence and  sagacity ;  and  to  anchor  his  father  forever  to 
humanity. 

But  this  generous  stroke  of  policy  cost  her  heart  dear. 
She  had  never  yet  been  parted  from  her  boy  an  hour  j 


444  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


and  she  felt  sadly  strange  as  well  as  desolate  without 
him.  After  the  first  day  it  became  intolerable ;  and 
what  does  the  poor  soul  do,  but  creep  at  dark  up  to 
Gouda  parsonage,  and  lurk  about  the  premises  like  a 
thief  till  she  saw  Eeicht  Heynes  in  the  kitchen  alone. 
Then  she  tapped  softly  at  the  window  and  said,  "Eeicht, 
for  pity's  sake  bring  him  out  to  me  unbeknown."  With 
Margaret  the  person  who  occupied  her  thoughts  at  the 
time  ceased  to  have  a  name,  and  sank  to  a  pronoun. 

Eeicht  soon  found  an  excuse  for  taking  little  Gerard 
out,  and  there  was  a  scene  of  mutual  rapture ;  followed 
by  mutual  tears  when  mother  and  boy  parted  again. 

And  it  was  arranged  that  Eeicht  should  take  him  half 
way  to  Eotterdam  every  day,  at  a  set  hour,  and  Margaret 
meet  them.  And  at  these  meetings,  after  the  raptures, 
and  after  mother  and  child  had  gambolled  together  like 
a  young  cat  and  her  first  kitten,  the  boy  would  sometimes 
amuse  himself  alone  at  their  feet,  and  the  two  women 
generally  seized  this  opportunity  to  talk  very  seriously 
about  Luke  Peterson.    This  began  thus  : 

"  Eeicht,"  said  Margaret,  "  I  as  good  as  promised  him 
to  marry  Luke  Peterson.  '  Say  you  the  word/  quoth  I, 
'and  I'll  wed  him.'" 

"Poor  Luke!" 

"Prithee,  why  poor  Luke  ?  " 

"  To  be  bandied  about  so,  atwixt  yea  and  nay." 

"  Why,  Eeicht,  you  have  not  ever  been  so  simple  as  to 
cast  an  eye  of  affection  on  the  boy,  that  you  take  his 
part  ?  " 

"  Me  ?  "  said  Eeicht,  with  a  toss  of  the  head. 
"  Oh,  I  ask  your  pardon.    Well,  then,  you  can  do  me 
a  good  turn." 

"  Whisht !  whisper  !  that  little  darling  is  listening  to 
every  word,  and  eyes  like  saucers." 

On  this  both  their  heads  would  have  gone  under  one 
cap. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


445 


Two  women  plotting  against  one  boy  ?  Oh,  you  great 
cowardly  serpents  ! 

But  when  these  stolen  meetings  had  gone  on  about 
five  days,  Margaret  began  to  feel  the  injustice  of  it,  and 
to  be  irritated  as  well  as  unhappy. 

And  she  was  crying  about  it,  when  a  cart  came  to  her 
door,  and  in  it,  clean  as  a  new  penny,  his  beard  close 
shaved,  his  bands  white  as  snow,  and  a  little  color  in 
his  pale  face,  sat  the  vicar  of  Gouda  in  the  gray  frock 
and  large  felt  hat  she  had  sent  him. 

She  ran  up-stairs  directly  and  washed  away  all  trace 
of  her  tears  and  put  on  a  cap,  which,  being  just  taken 
out  of  the  drawer,  was  cleaner,  theoretically,  than  the 
one  she  had  on ;  and  came  down  to  him. 

He  seized  both  her  hands  and  kissed  them,  and  a  tear 
fell  upon  them.  She  turned  her  head  away  at  that  to 
hide  her  own  which  started. 

"  My  sweet  Margaret,"  he  cried,  "  why  is  this  ?  Why 
hold  you  aloof  from  your  own  good  deed  ?  we  have  been 
waiting  and  waiting  for  you  every  day,  and  no  Margaret." 

"  You  said  things." 

"  What !  when  I  was  a  hermit :  and  a  donkey." 
"Ay!  no  matter,  you  said  things.    And  you  had  no 
reason." 

"  Forget  all  I  said  there.  Who  hearkens  the  ravings 
of  a  maniac  ?  for  I  see  now  that  in  a  few  months  more  I 
should  have  been  a  gibbering  idiot :  yet  no  mortal  could 
have  persuaded  me  away  but  you.  Oh,  what  an  outlay 
of  wit  and  goodness  was  yours  !  But  it  is  not  here  I  can 
thank  and  bless  you  as  I  ought ;  no,  it  is  in  the  home 
you  have  given  me,  among  the  sheep  whose  shepherd 
you  have  made  me  ;  already  I  love  them  dearly ;  there  it 
is  I  must  thank  '  the  truest  friend  ever  man  had/  So 
now  I  say  to  you  as  erst  you  said  to  me,  come  to  Gouda 
manse." 


446  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  Humph  !  we  will  see  about  that." 

"  Why,  Margaret,  think  you  I  had  ever  kept  the  dear 
child  so  long  but  that  I  made  sure  you  would  be  back  to 
him  from  day  to  day  ?  Oh,  he  curls  round  my  very 
heart-strings,  but  what  is  my  title  to  him  compared  to 
thine  ?  Confess  now,  thou  hast  hard  thoughts  of  me 
for  this." 

"  Nay,  nay,  not  I.  Ah !  thou  art  thyself  again ;  wast 
ever  thoughtful  of  others.  I  have  half  a  mind  to  go  to 
Gouda  manse,  for  your  saying  that." 

"  Come  then,  with  half  thy  mind,  'tis  worth  the  whole 
of  other  folk's." 

"  Well,  I  dare  say  I  will ;  but  there  is  no  such  mighty 
hurry,"  said  she,  coolly  (she  was  literally  burning  to  go). 
"  Tell  me  first  how  you  agree  with  your  folk." 

"  Why,  already  my  poor  have  taken  root  in  my  heart." 

"  I  thought  as  much." 

"And  there  are  such  good  creatures  among  them; 
simple  and  rough  and  superstitious,  but  wonderfully 
good." 

"  Oh !  leave  you  alone  for  seeing  a  grain  of  good  among 
a  bushel  of  ill." 

"  Whisht,  whisht !  And,  Margaret,  two  of  them  have 
been  ill  friends  for  four  years,  and  came  to  the  manse 
each  to  get  on  my  blind  side.  But,  give  the  glory  to 
God,  I  got  on  their  bright  side,  and  made  them  friends 
and  laugh  at  themselves  for  their  folly." 

"But  are  you  in  very  deed  their  vicar?  answer  me 
that." 

"  Certes ;  have  I  not  been  to  the  bishop  and  taken  the 
oath,  and  rung  the  church  bell,  and  touched  the  altar, 
the  missal,  and  the  holy  cup,  before  the  churchwardens  ? 
And  they  have  handed  me  the  parish  seal ;  see,  here  it 
is.  Nay  'tis  a  real  vicar  inviting  a  true  friend  to  Gouda 
manse." 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


447 


u  Then  my  mind  is  at  ease.    Tell  me  oceans  more." 

"  Well,  sweet  one,  nearest  to  me  of  all  my  parish  is  a 
poor  cripple  that  my  guardian  angel  and  his  (her  name 
thou  knowest  even  by  this  turning  of  thy  head  away) 
hath  placed  beneath  my  roof.  Sybrandt  and  I  are  that 
we  never  were  till  now,  brothers.  'Twould  gladden  thee, 
yet  sadden  thee,  to  hear  how  we  kissed  and  forgave  one 
another.  He  is  full  of  thy  praises,  and  wholly  in  a  pious 
mind;  he  says  he  is  happier  since  his  trouble  than  e'er 
he  was  in  the  days  of  his  strength.  Oh !  out  of  my  house 
he  ne'er  shall  go  to  any  place  but  heaven." 

"  Tell  me  somewhat  that  happened  thyself,  poor  soul ! 
All  this  is  good,  but  yet  no  tidings  to  me.  Do  I  not 
know  thee  of  old  ?  " 

"  Well,  let  me  see.  At  first  I  was  much  dazzled  by 
the  sunlight,  and  could  not  go  abroad  (owl !) ;  but  that  is 
passed ;  and  good  Beicht  Heynes  —  humph  !  " 

"What  of  her?" 

"  This  to  thine  ear  only,  for  she  is  a  diamond.  Her 
voice  goes  through  me  like  a  knife,  and  all  voices  seem 
loud  but  thine,  which  is  so  mellow,  sweet.  Stay,  now 
I'll  fit  ye  with  tidings :  I  spake  yesterday  with  an  old 
man  that  conceits  he  is  ill-tempered,  and  sweats  to  pass 
for  such  with  others,  but  oh !  so  threadbare,  and  the  best 
good  heart  beneath." 

"  Why,  'tis  a  parish  of  angels,"  said  Margaret,  ironically. 

"Then  why  dost  thou  keep  out  on't  ?  "  retorted  Gerard. 
"  Well,  he  was  telling  me  there  was  no  parish  in  Holland 
where  the  devil  hath  such  power  as  at  Gouda;  and  among 
his  instances,  says  he,  '  We  had  a  hermit,  the  holiest  in 
Holland ;  but,  being  Gouda,  the  devil  came  for  him  this 
week,  and  took  him,  bag  and  baggage :  not  a  ha'porth  of 
him  left  but  a  goodish  piece  of  his  skin,  just  for  all  the 
world  like  a  hedgehog's,  and  a  piece  o'  old  iron  furbished 
up.'" 


448  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


Margaret  smiled. 

"Ay,  but,"  continued  Gerard,  "the  strange  thing  is, 
the  cave  has  verily  fallen  in  ;  and,  had  I  been  so  perverse 
as  resist  thee,  it  had  assuredly  buried  me  dead  there 
where  I  had  buried  myself  alive.  Therefore  in  this  I 
see  the  finger  of  Providence,  condemning  my  late,  approv- 
ing my  present,  way  of  life.    What  sayest  thou  ?  " 

"Nay,  can  I  pierce  the  like  mysteries?  I  am  but  a 
woman." 

"Somewhat  more,  methinks.  This  very  tale  proves 
thee  my  guardian  angel,  and  all  else  avouches  it:  so 
come  to  G-ouda  manse." 

"Well,  go  you  on,  I'll  follow." 

"  Nay,  in  the  cart  with  me." 

"Not  so." 

"Why?" 

"  Can  I  tell  why  and  wherefore,  being  a  woman  ?  All 
I  know  is  I  seem  —  to  feel  —  to  wish  —  to  come  alone." 

"  So  be  it  then.  I  leave  thee  the  cart,  being,  as  thou 
sayest,  a  woman,  and  I'll  go  afoot  being  a  man  again, 
with  the  joyful  tidings  of  thy  coming." 

When  Margaret  reached  the  manse  the  first  thing  she 
saw  was  the  two  Gerards  together,  the  son  performing 
his  capriccios  on  the  plot,  and  the  father  slouching  on  a 
chair,  in  his  great  hat,  with  pencil  and  paper,  trying  very 
patiently  to  sketch  him. 

After  a  warm  welcome  he  showed  her  his  attempts. 
"But  in  vain  I  strive  to  fix  him,"  said  he,  "for  he  is 
incarnate  quicksilver.  Yet  do  but  note  his  changes, 
infinite,  but  none  ungracious,  all  is  supple  and  easy; 
and  how  he  melteth  from  one  posture  to  another."  He 
added  presently,  "Woe  to  illuminators  !  looking  on  thee, 
sir  baby,  I  see  what  awkward,  lopsided,  ungainly  toads 
I  and  my  fellows  painted  missals  with,  and  called  them 
oherubs  and  seraphs."    Finally  he  threw  the  paper  away 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


449 


in  despair,  and  Margaret  conveyed  it  secretly  into  her 
bosom. 

At  night  when  they  sat  round  the  peat  fire  he  bade 
them  observe  how  beautiful  the  brass  candlesticks  and 
other  glittering  metals  were  in  the  glow  from  the  hearth. 
Catherine's  eyes  sparkled  at  this  observation.  "  And  oh, 
the  sheets  I  lie  in  here,"  said  he;  "often  my  conscience 
pricketh  me  and  saith,  '  Who  art  thou  to  lie  in  lint  like 
web  of  snow  ? '  Dives  was  ne'er  so  flaxed  as  I.  And  to 
think  that  there  are  folk  in  the  world  that  have  all  the 
beautiful  things  which  I  have  here,  yet  not  content. 
Let  them  pass  six  months  in  a  hermit's  cell,  seeing  no 
face  of  man ;  then  will  they  find  how  lovely  and  pleasant 
this  wicked  world  is ;  and  eke  that  men  and  women  are 
God's  fairest  creatures.  Margaret  was  always  fair,  but 
never  to  my  eye  so  bright  as  now."  Margaret  shook  her 
head  incredulously.  Gerard  continued,  "  My  mother  was 
ever  good  and  kind,  but  I  noted  not  her  exceeding  comeli- 
ness till  now." 

Nor  I  neither,"  said  Catherine ;  "  a  score  years  ago  I 
might  pass  in  a  crowd,  but  not  now." 

Gerard  declared  to  her  that  each  age  had  its  beauty. 
"  See  this  mild  gray  eye,"  said  he,  "  that  hath  looked 
motherly  love  upon  so  many  of  us,  all  that  love  hath  left 
its  shadow,  and  that  shadow  is  a  beauty  which  defieth 
Time.  See  this  delicate  lip,  these  pure  white  teeth. 
See  this  well-shaped  brow,  where  comeliness  just  passeth 
into  reverence.    Art  beautiful  in  my  eyes,  mother  dear." 

"And  that  is  enough  for  me,  my  darling.  'Tis  time 
you  were  in  bed,  child.    Ye  have  to  preach  the  morn." 

And  Keicht  Heynes  and  Catherine  interchanged  a  look 
which  said,  "  We  two  have  an  amiable  maniac  to  super- 
intend ;  calls  everything  beautiful." 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  they  heard  him  preach 
in  his  own  church.    It  was  crammed  with  persons,  who 


450  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


came  curious,  but  remained  devout.  Never  was  his  won- 
derful gift  displayed  more  powerfully ;  he  was  himself 
deeply  moved  by  the  first  sight  of  all  his  people,  and  his 
bowels  yearned  over  this  flock  he  had  so  long  neglected. 
In  a  single  sermon,  which  lasted  two  hours,  and  seemed 
to  last  but  twenty  minutes,  he  declared  the  whole  Script- 
ure ;  he  terrified  the  impenitent  and  thoughtless,  con- 
firmed the  wavering,  consoled  the  bereaved  and  the 
afflicted,  uplifted  the  hearts  of  the  poor,  and,  when  he 
ended,  left  the  multitude  standing,  rapt,  and  unwilling 
to  believe  the  divine  music  of  his  voice  and  soul  had 
ceased. 

Need  I  say  that  two  poor  women  in  a  corner  sat 
entranced,  with  streaming  eyes  ? 

"  Wherever  gat  he  it  all  ?  "  whispered  Catherine,  with 
her  apron  to  her  eyes.    "  By  our  Lady,  not  from  me." 

As  soon  as  they  were  by  themselves  Margaret  threw 
her  arms  round  Catherine's  neck  and  kissed  her. 

"  Mother,  mother,  I  am  not  quite  a  happy  woman,  but 
oh,  I  am  a  proud  one." 

And  she  vowed  on  her  knees  never  by  word  or  deed  to 
let  her  love  come  between  this  young  saint  and  heaven. 

Header,  did  you  ever  stand  by  the  seashore  after  a 
storm,  when  the  wind  happens  to  have  gone  down  sud- 
denly ?  The  waves  cannot  cease  with  their  cause ;  indeed, 
they  seem  at  first  to  the  ear  to  lash  the  sounding  shore 
more  fiercely  than  while  the  wind  blew.  Still  we  are 
conscious  that  inevitable  calm  has  begun,  and  is  now  but 
rocking  them  to  sleep.  So  it  was  with  those  true  and 
tempest-tossed  lovers  from  that  eventful  night,  when 
they  went  hand  in  hand  beneath  the  stars  from  Gouda 
hermitage  to  Gouda  manse. 

At  times  a  loud  wave  would  every  now  and  then  come 
roaring;  but  it  was  only  memory's  echo  of  the  tempest 
that  had  swept  their  lives,  the  storm  itself  was  over ;  and 


ME  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


451 


the  boiling  waters  began  from  that  moment  to  go  down, 
down,  down,  gently,  but  inevitably. 

This  image  is  to  supply  the  place  of  interminable 
details,  that  would  be  tedious  and  tame.  What  best 
merits  attention  at  present,  is  the  general  situation,  and 
the  strange  complication  of  feeling  that  arose  from  it. 
History  itself,  though  a  far  more  daring  story-teller  than 
romance,  presents  few  things  so  strange  1  as  the  footing 
on  which  Gerard  and  Margaret  now  lived  for  many  years. 
United  by  present  affection,  past  familiarity,  and  a  mar- 
riage irregular,  but  legal ;  separated  by  holy  Church  and 
by  their  own  consciences,  which  sided  unreservedly  with 
holy  Church ;  separated  by  the  Church,  but  united  by  a 
living  pledge  of  affection,  lawful  in  every  sense  at  its 
date. 

And  living  but  a  few  miles  from  one  another,  and  she 
calling  his  mother  "  mother."  Tor  some  years  she  always 
took  her  boy  to  Gouda  on  Sunday,  returning  home  at 
dark.  Go  when  she  would,  it  was  always  fete  at  Gouda 
manse,  and  she  was  received  like  a  little  queen.  Cath- 
erine, in  these  days,  was  nearly  always  with  her,  and  Eli 
very  often.  Tergou  had  so  little  to  tempt  them,  com- 
pared with  Rotterdam ;  and  at  last  they  left  it  altogether, 
and  set  up  in  the  capital. 

And  thus  the  years  glided ;  so  barren  now  of  striking 
incidents,  so  void  of  great  hopes,  and  free  from  great 
fears,  and  so  like  one  another,  that  without  the  help  of 
dates  I  could  scarcely  indicate  the  progress  of  time. 

However,  early  next  year,  1471,  the  Duchess  of  Bur- 

1  Let  me  not  be  understood  to  apply  this  to  the  bare  outline  of  the  relation. 
Many  bishops  and  priests,  and  not  a  few  popes,  had  wives  and  children  as  lay- 
men; and  entering  orders  were  parted  from  the  wives  and  not  from  the 
children.  But  in  the  case  before  the  reader  are  the  additional  features  of  a 
strong  surviving  attachment  on  both  sides,  and  of  neighborhood,  besides  that 
here  the  man  had  been  led  into  holy  orders  by  a  false  statement  of  the  woman's 
death.  On  a  summary  of  all  the  essential  features,  the  situation  was,  to  the 
best  of  my  belief,  unique. 


452 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


gundy  with  the  open  dissent,  but  secret  connivance  of 
the  duke,  raised  forces  to  enable  her  dethroned  brother, 
Edward  the  Fourth  of  England,  to  invade  that  kingdom ; 
our  old  friend  Denys  thus  enlisted,  and  passing  through 
Rotterdam  to  the  ships,  heard  on  his  way  that  Gerard 
was  a  priest,  and  Margaret  alone.  On  this  he  told 
Margaret  that  marriage  was  not  a  habit  of  his,  but  that 
as  his  comrade  had  put  it  out  of  his  own  power  to  keep 
troth,  he  felt  bound  to  offer  to  keep  it  for  him ;  "  for  a 
comrade's  honor  is  dear  to  us  as  our  own,"  said  he. 

She  stared,  then  smiled ;  "  I  choose  rather  to  be  still 
thy  she-comrade,"  said  she ;  "  closer  acquainted  we  might 
not  agree  so  well."  And  in  her  character  of  she-comrade 
she  equipped  him  with  a  new  sword  of  Antwerp  make, 
and  a  double  handful  of  silver.  "  I  give  thee  no  gold," 
said  she,  "  for  'tis  thrown  away  as  quick  as  silver,  and 
harder  to  win  back.  Heaven  send  thee  safe  out  of  all 
thy  perils ;  there  be  famous  fair  women  yonder  to  beguile 
thee  with  their  faces,  as  well  as  men  to  hash  thee  with 
their  axes." 

He  was  hurried  on  board  at  La  Vere,  and  never  saw 
Gerard  at  that  time. 

In  1473,  Sybrandt  began  to  fail.  His  pitiable  existence 
had  been  sweetened  by  his  brother's  inventive  tenderness, 
and  his  own  contented  spirit,  which,  his  antecedents  con- 
sidered, was  truly  remarkable.  As  for  Gerard,  the  day 
never  passed  that  he  did  not  devote  two  hours  to  him ; 
reading  or  singing  to  him,  praying  with  him,  and  drawing 
him  about  in  a  soft  carriage  Margaret  and  he  had  made 
between  them.  When  the  poor  soul  found  his  end  near, 
he  begged  Margaret  might  be  sent  for ;  she  came  at  once, 
and  almost  with  his  last  breath  he  sought  once  more  that 
forgiveness  she  had  long  ago  accorded.  She  remained 
by  him  till  the  last ;  and  he  died  blessing  and  blessed,  in 
the  arms  of  the  two  true  lovers  he  had  parted  for  life. 
Tantum  religio  scit  suadere  boni. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  453 


1474  there  was  a  wedding  in  Margaret's  house.  Luke 
Peterson  and  Reicht  Heynes. 

This  may  seem  less  strange  if  I  give  the  purport  of 
the  dialogue  interrupted  some  time  back. 

Margaret  went  on  to  say,  "  Then  in  that  case  you  can 
easily  make  him  fancy  you,  and  for  my  sake  you  must, 
for  my  conscience  it  pricketh  me,  and  I  must  needs  fit 
him  with  a  wife,  the  best  I  know."  Margaret  then  in- 
structed Reicht  to  be  always  kind  and  good-humored  to 
Luke  ;  and  she  would  be  a  model  of  peevishness  to  him. 
"  But  be  not  thou  so  simple  as  run  me  down,"  said  she. 
"Leave  that  to  me.  Make  thou  excuses  for  me;  I  will 
make  myself  black  enow." 

Eeicht  received  these  instructions  like  an  order  to 
sweep  a  room,  and  obeyed  them  punctually. 

When  they  had  subjected  poor  Luke  to  this  double 
artillery  for  a  couple  of  years,  he  got  to  look  upon 
Margaret  as  his  fog  and  wind,  and  Reicht  as  his  sun- 
shine ;  and  his  affections  transferred  themselves,  he 
scarce  knew  how  or  when. 

On  the  wedding-day  Reicht  embraced  Margaret  and 
thanked  her  almost  with  tears.  "He  was  always  my 
fancy,"  said  she,  "  from  the  first  hour  I  clapped  eyes  on 
him." 

"  Heyday,  you  never  told  me  that.  What,  Reicht,  are 
you  as  sly  as  the  rest  ?  " 

"  Nay,  nay,"  said  Reicht,  eagerly ;  "  but  I  never 
thought  you  would  really  part  with  him  to  me.  In  my 
country  the  mistress  looks  to  be  served  before  the  maid." 

Margaret  settled  them  in  her  shop,  and  gave  them  half 
the  profits. 

1476  and  7  were  years  of  great  trouble  to  Gerard, 
whose  conscience  compelled  him  to  oppose  the  Pope. 
His  Holiness,  siding  with  the  Gray  Friars  in  their 
determination  to  swamp  every  palpable  distinction  be- 


454 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


tween  the  Virgin  Mary  and  her  Son,  bribed  the  Christian 
world  into  his  crotchet  by  proffering  pardon  of  all  sins 
to  such  as  would  add  to  the  Ave  Mary,  this  clause  :  "  and 
blessed  be  thy  Mother  Anna,  from  whom,  without  blot 
of  original  sin,  proceeded  thy  virgin  flesh." 

Gerard,  in  common  with  many  of  the  Northern  clergy, 
held  this  sentence  to  be  flat  heresy ;  he  not  only  refused 
to  utter  it  in  his  church,  but  warned  his  parishioners 
against  using  it  in  private ;  and  he  refused  to  celebrate 
the  new  feast  the  Pope  invented  at  the  same  time,  viz., 
"the  feast  of  the  miraculous  conception  of  the  Virgin." 

But  this  drew  upon  him  the  bitter  enmity  of  the  Fran- 
ciscans, and  they  were  strong  enough  to  put  him  into 
more  than  one  serious  difficulty,  and  inflict  many  a  little 
mortification  on  him. 

In  emergencies  he  consulted  Margaret,  and  she  always 
did  one  of  two  things,  either  she  said,  "  I  do  not  see  my 
way :  "  and  she  refused  to  guess ;  or  else  she  gave  him 
advice  that  proved  wonderfully  sagacious.  He  had 
genius  ;  but  she  had  marvellous  tact. 

And  where  affection  came  in  and  annihilated  the 
woman's  judgment,  he  stepped  in  his  turn  to  her  aid. 
Thus,  though  she  knew  she  was  spoiling  little  Gerard, 
and  Catherine  was  ruining  him  for  life,  she  would  not 
part  with  him,  but  kept  him  at  home,  and  his  abilities 
uncultivated.  And  there  was  a  shrewd  boy  of  nine 
years,  instead  of  learning  to  work  and  obey,  playing 
about  and  learning  selfishness  from  their  infinite  unself- 
ishness, and  tyrannizing  with  a  rod  of  iron  over  two 
women,  both  of  them  sagacious  and  spirited,  but  reduced 
by  their  fondness  for  him  to  the  exact  level  of  idiots. 

Gerard  saw  this  with  pain,  and  interfered  with  mild 
but  firm  remonstrance ;  and  after  a  considerable  struggle 
prevailed,  and  got  little  Gerard  sent  to  the  best  school 
in  Europe,  kept  by  one  Haaghe  at  Deventer  j  this  was 


The  cloister  and  the  hearth.  455 

in  1477.  Many  tears  were  shed,  but  the  great  progress 
the  boy  made  at  that  famous  school  reconciled  Margaret 
in  some  degree,  and  the  fidelity  of  Eeicht  Heynes,  now 
her  partner  in  business,  enabled  her  to  spend  weeks  at  a 
time  hovering  over  her  boy  at  Deventer. 

And  so  the  years  glided ;  and  these  two  persons,  sub- 
jected to  as  strong  and  constant  a  temptation  as  can  well 
be  conceived,  were  each  other's  guardian  angels ;  and  not 
each  other's  tempters. 

To  be  sure,  the  well-greased  morality  of  the  next  cent- 
ury, which  taught  that  solemn  vows  to  God  are  sacred 
in  proportion  as  they  are  reasonable,  had  at  that  time 
entered  no  single  mind ;  and  the  alternative  to  these  two 
minds  was  self-denial,  or  sacrilege. 

It  was  a  strange  thing  to  hear  them  talk  with  unre- 
strained tenderness  to  one  another  of  their  boy ;  and  an 
icy  barrier  between  themselves  all  the  time. 

Eight  years  had  now  passed  thus,  and  Gerard,  fairly 
compared  with  men  in  general,  was  happy. 

But  Margaret  was  not. 

The  habitual  expression  of  her  face  was  a  sweet  pen- 
siveness;  bat  sometimes  she  was  irritable  and  a  little 
petulant.  She  even  snapped  Gerard  now  and  then.  And, 
when  she  went  to  see  him,  if  a  monk  was  with  him,  she 
would  turn  her  back  and  go  home. 

She  hated  the  monks  for  having  parted  Gerard  and 
her,  and  she  inoculated  her  boy  with  a  contempt  for 
them  which  lasted  him  till  his  dying  day. 

Gerard  bore  with  her  like  an  angel.  He  knew  her 
heart  of  gold,  and  hoped  this  ill  gust  would  blow  over. 

He  himself  being  now  the  right  man  in  the  right  place 
this  many  years,  loving  his  parishioners,  and  beloved  by 
them,  and  occupied  from  morn  till  night  in  good  works, 
recovered  the  natural  cheerfulness  of  his  disposition.  To 
tell  the  truth,  a  part  of  his  jocoseness  was  a  blind;  he 


456 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


was  the  greatest  peacemaker,  except  Mr.  Harmony  in 
the  play,  that  ever  was  born.  He  reconciled  more 
enemies  in  ten  years  than  his  predecessors  had  done  in 
three  hundred ;  and  one  of  his  manoeuvres  in  the  peace- 
making art  was  to  make  the  quarrellers  laugh  at  the 
cause  of  quarrel.  So  did  he  undermine  the  demon  of 
discord.  But,  independently  of  that,  he  really  loved  a 
harmless  joke.  He  was  a  wonderful  tamer  of  animals, 
squirrels,  hares,  fawns,  etc.  So,  half  in  jest,  a  parishioner 
who  had  a  mule  supposed  to  be  possessed  with  a  devil, 
gave  it  him,  and  said,  "Tame  this  vagabone,  parson,  if 
ye  can."  Well,  in  about  six  months,  Heaven  knows  how, 
he  not  only  tamed  Jack,  but  won  his  affections  to  such  a 
degree,  that  Jack  would  come  running  to  his  whistle 
like  a  dog.  One  day,  having  taken  shelter  from  a  shower 
on  the  stone  settle  outside  a  certain  public  house,  he 
heard  a  toper  inside,  a  stranger,  boasting  he  could  take 
more  at  a  draught  than  any  man  in  Gouda.  He  instantly 
marched  in,  and  said,  "  What,  lads,  do  none  of  ye  take 
him  up  for  the  honor  of  Gouda  ?  Shall  it  be  said  that 
there  came  hither  one  from  another  parish  a  greater  sot 
than  any  of  us  ?  Nay,  then,  I  your  parson  do  take  him 
up.  Go  to ;  I'll  find  thee  a  parishioner  shall  drink  more 
at  a  draught  than  thou." 

A  bet  was  made ;  Gerard  whistled ;  in  clattered  Jack 
—  for  he  was  taught  to  come  into  a  room  with  the  ut- 
most composure  —  and  put  his  nose  into  his  backer's 
hand. 

"  A  pair  of  buckets  ! "  shouted  Gerard,  "  and  let  us  see 
which  of  these  two  sons  of  asses  can  drink  most  at  a 
draught." 

On  another  occasion  two  farmers  had  a  dispute  whose 
hay  was  the  best.  Failing  to  convince  each  other,  they 
said,  "  We'll  ask  parson  ; "  for  by  this  time  he  was  their 
referee  in  every  mortal  thing. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  457 


"  How  lucky  you  thought  of  me ! "  said  Gerard. 
u  Why,  I  have  got  one  staying  with  me  who  is  the  best 
judge  of  hay  in  Holland.  Bring  me  a  double  handful 
apiece." 

So  when  they  came  he  had  them  into  the  parlor,  and 
put  each  bundle  on  a  chair.  Then  he  whistled,  and  in 
walked  Jack. 

"  Lord  a  mercy  ! "  said  one  of  the  farmers. 

"  Jack,"  said  the  parson  in  the  tone  of  conversation, 
"  just  tell  us  which  is  the  best  hay  of  these  two." 

Jack  sniffed  them  both,  and  made  his  choice  directly ; 
proving  his  sincerity  by  eating  every  morsel.  The 
farmers  slapped  their  thighs,  and  scratched  their  heads. 
"To  think  of  we  not  thinking  o'  that."  And  they  each 
sent  Jack  a  truss. 

So  Gerard  got  to  be  called  the  merry  parson  of  Gouda. 
But  Margaret,  who  like  most  loving  women  had  no  more 
sense  of  humor  than  a  turtle-dove,  took  this  very  ill. 
"  What ! "  said  she  to  herself,  "  is  there  nothing  sore  at 
the  bottom  of  his  heart  that  he  can  go  about  playing  the 
zany  ? "  She  could  understand  pious  resignation  and 
content,  but  not  mirth,  in  true  lovers  parted.  And  whilst 
her  woman's  nature  was  perturbed  by  this  gust  (and 
women  seem  more  subject  to  gusts  than  men)  came  that 
terrible  animal,  a  busybody,  to  work  upon  her.  Catherine 
saw  she  was  not  happy,  and  said  to  her,  "  Your  boy  is 
gone  from  you.  I  would  not  live  alone  all  my  days  if  I 
were  you." 

"He  is  more  alone  than  I,"  sighed  Margaret. 

"  Oh,  a  man  is  a  man ;  but  a  woman  is  a  woman.  You 
must  not  think  all  of  him  and  none  of  yourself.  Near  is 
your  kirtle,  but  nearer  is  your  smock.  Besides,  he  is  a 
priest,  and  can  do  no  better.  But  you  are  not  a  priest. 
He  has  got  his  parish,  and  his  heart  is  in  that.  Bethink 
thee !  Time  flies  j  overstay  not  thy  market.  Wouldst 


458 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


not  like  to  have  three  or  four  more  little  darlings  about 
thy  knee  now  they  have  robbed  thee  of  poor  little 
Gerard,  and  sent  him  to  yon  nasty  school  ?  "  And  so 
she  worked  upon  a  mind  already  irritated. 

Margaret  had  many  suitors  ready  to  marry  her  at  a 
word  or  even  a  look,  and  among  them  two  merchants  of 
the  better  class,  Van  Schelt  and  Oostwagen.  "  Take  one 
of  these  two,"  said  Catherine. 

"  Well,  I  will  ask  Gerard  if  I  may,"  said  Margaret  one 
day  with  a  flood  of  tears  ;  "for  I  cannot  go  on  the  way 
I  am." 

"Why,  you  would  never  be  so  simple  as  ask  liim?" 
"  Think  you  I  would  be  so  wicked  as  marry  without 
his  leave  ?  " 

Accordingly  she  actually  went  to  Gouda,  and  after 
hanging  her  head,  and  blushing,  and  crying,  and  saying 
she  was  miserable,  told  him  his  mother  wished  her  to 
marry  one  of  those  two ;  and  if  he  approved  of  her 
marrying  at  all,  would  he  use  his  wisdom,  and  tell  her 
which  he  thought  would  be  the  kindest  to  the  little 
Gerard  of  those  two  ;  for  herself  she  did  not  care  what 
became  of  her. 

Gerard  felt  as  if  she  had  put  a  soft  hand  into  his  body, 
and  torn  his  heart  out  with  it.  But  the  priest  with  a 
mighty  effort  mastered  the  man.  In  a  voice  scarcely 
audible  he  declined  this  responsibility.  "I  am  not  a 
saint  or  a  prophet,"  said  he ;  "I  might  advise  thee  ill.  I 
shall  read  the  marriage  service  for  thee,"  faltered  he; 
"  it  is  my  right.  Xo  other  would  pray  for  thee  as  I 
should.  But  thou  must  choose  for  thyself ;  and  oh  !  let 
me  see  thee  happy.  This  four  months  past  thou  hast 
not  been  happy." 

"A  discontented  mind  is  never  happy,"  said  Margaret. 

She  left  him,  and  he  fell  on  his  knees,  and  prayed  for 
help  from  above. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


459 


Margaret  went  home  pale  and  agitated.  "  Mother," 
said  she,  "  never  mention  it  to  me  again  or  we  shall 
quarrel." 

"  He  forbade  you  ?  Well,  more  shame  for  him,  that 
is  all." 

"  He  forbid  me  ?  He  did  not  condescend  so  far.  He 
was  as  noble  as  I  was  paltry.  He  would  not  choose  for 
me  for  fear  of  choosing  me  an  ill  husband.  But  he  would 
read  the  service  for  my  groom  and  me ;  that  was  his 
right.    0  mother,  what  a  heartless  creature  I  was  !  " 

"  Well,  I  thought  not  he  had  that  much  sense." 

"  Ah,  you  go  by  the  poor  soul's  words  ;  but  I  rate 
words  as  air  when  the  face  speaketh  to  mine  eye.  I  saw 
the  priest  and  the  true  lover  a-fighting  in  his  dear  face, 
and  his  cheek  pale  with  the  strife,  and  oh  !  his  poor  lip 
trembled  as  he  said  the  stout-hearted  words  —  Oh  !  oh  ! 
oh !  oh  !  oh !  oh !  oh  !  "  And  Margaret  burst  into  a 
violent  passion  of  tears. 

Catherine  groaned.  "  There,  give  it  up  without  more 
ado,"  said  she.  "  You  two  are  chained  together  for  life  ; 
and,  if  God  is  merciful,  that  won't  be  for  long ;  for  what 
are  you  ?  neither  maid,  wife,  nor  widow." 

"  Give  it  up  ?  "  said  Margaret :  "  that  was  done  long 
ago.  All  I  think  of  now  is  comforting  him ;  for  now  I 
have  been  and  made  him  unhappy  too,  wretch  and  mon- 
ster that  I  am." 

So  the  next  day  they  both  went  to  Gouda.  And  Gerard, 
who  had  been  praying  for  resignation  all  this  time,  re- 
ceived her  with  peculiar  tenderness  as  a  treasure  he  was 
to  lose ;  but  she  was  agitated  and  eager  to  let  him  see 
without  words  that  she  would  never  marry,  and  she 
fawned  on  him  like  a  little  dog  to  be  forgiven.  And  as 
she  was  going  away  she  murmured,  "  Forgive  !  and  for- 
get !  I  am  but  a  woman." 

He  misunderstood  her,  and  said,  "  All  I  bargain  for  is, 


460  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


let  me  see  thee  content ;  for  pity's  sake,  let  me  not  see 
thee  unhappy  as  I  have  this  while." 

"  My  darling,  you  never  shall  again,"  said  Margaret, 
with  streaming  eyes,  and  kissed  his  hand. 

He  misunderstood  this  too  at  first ;  but  when  month 
after  month  passed,  and  he  heard  no  more  of  her  mar- 
riage, and  she  came  to  Gouda  comparatively  cheerful, 
and  was  even  civil  to  Father  Ambrose,  a  mild  benevolent 
monk  from  the  Dominican  convent  hard  by  —  then  he 
understood  her;  and  one  day  he  invited  her  to  walk 
alone  with  him  in  the  sacred  paddock ;  and  before  I  re- 
late what  passed  between  them,  I  must  give  its  history. 

When  Gerard  had  been  four  or  five  days  at  the  manse, 
looking  out  of  the  window  he  uttered  an  exclamation  of 
joy.  "  Mother,  Margaret,  here  is  one  of  my  birds  ;  an- 
other, another  ;  four,  six,  nine.    A  miracle  !  a  miracle  ! 99 

"  Why,  how  can  you  tell  your  birds  from  their  fel- 
lows ?  "  said  Catherine. 

"  I  know  every  feather  in  their  wings.  And  see ; 
there  is  the  little  darling  whose  claw  I  gilt,  bless  it ! " 

And  presently  his  rapture  took  a  serious  turn,  and  he 
saw  Heaven's  approbation  in  this  conduct  of  the  birds  as 
he  did  in  the  fall  of  the  cave.  This  wonderfully  kept 
alive  his  friendship  for  animals  :  and  he  enclosed  a  pad- 
dock, and  drove  all  the  sons  of  Cain  from  it  with  threats 
of  excommunication.  "  On  this  little  spot  of  earth  we'll 
have  no  murder,"  said  he.  He  tamed  leverets  and  par- 
tridges, and  little  birds,  and  hares,  and  roe-deer.  He 
found  a  squirrel  with  a  broken  leg;  he  set  it  with  infi- 
nite difficulty  and  patience ;  and  during  the  cure  showed 
it  repositories  of  acorns,  nuts,  chestnuts,  etc.  And  this 
squirrel  got  well  and  went  off,  but  visited  him  in  hard 
weather,  and  brought  a  mate,  and  next  year  little  squir- 
rels were  found  to  have  imbibed  their  parents'  senti- 
ments :  and  of  all  these  animals  each  generation  was 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


461 


tamer  than  the  last.  This  set  the  good  parson  thinking, 
and  gave  him  the  true  clew  to  the  great  successes  of 
mediaeval  hermits  in  taming  wild  animals. 

He  kept  the  key  of  this  paddock,  and  never  let  any 
man  but  himself  enter  it :  nor  would  he  even  let  little 
Gerard  go  there  without  him  or  Margaret.  "Children 
are  all  little  Cains,"  said  he. 

In  this  oasis  then  he  spoke  to  Margaret,  and  said, 
"  Dear  Margaret,  I  have  thought  more  than  ever  of  thee 
of  late,  and  have  asked  myself  why  I  am  content,  and 
thou  unhappy." 

"  Because  thou  art  better,  wiser,  holier  than  I ;  that  is 
all,"  said  Margaret,  promptly. 

"Our  lives  tell  another  tale,"  said  Gerard,  thought- 
fully. "  I  know  thy  goodness  and  thy  wisdom  too  well 
to  reason  thus  perversely.  Also  I  know  that  I  love  thee 
as  dear  as  thou,  I  think,  lovest  me.  Yet  am  I  happier 
than  thou.    Why  is  this  so  ?  " 

"  Dear  Gerard,  I  am  as  happy  as  a  woman  can  hope  to 
be  this  side  the  grave." 

"  Not  so  happy  as  I.  Now  for  the  reason.  First  then 
I  am  a  priest,  and  this,  the  one  great  trial  and  disap- 
pointment God  giveth  me  along  with  so  many  joys,  why, 
I  share  it  with  a  multitude.  For,  alas  !  I  am  not  the 
only  priest  by  thousands  that  must  never  hope  for 
entire  earthly  happiness.  Here  then  thy  lot  is  harder 
than  mine." 

"But,  Gerard,  I  have  my  child  to  love.  Thou  canst 
not  fill  thy  heart  with  him  as  his  mother  can.  So  you 
may  set  this  against  you." 

"  And  I  have  ta'en  him  from  thee ;  it  was  cruel ;  but 
he  would  have  broken  thy  heart  one  day  if  I  had  not. 
Well  then,  sweet  one,  I  come  to  where  the  shoe  pincheth, 
methinks.  I  have  my  parish,  and  it  keeps  my  heart  in 
a  glow  from  morn  till  night.    There  is  scarce  an  emotion 


462  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


that  my  folk  stir  not  up  in  me  many  times  a  day.  Often 
their  sorrows  make  me  weep,  sometimes  their  perversity 
kindles  a  little  wrath,  and  their  absurdity  makes  me 
laugh,  and  sometimes  their  flashes  of  unexpected  good- 
ness do  set  me  all  of  a  glow :  and  I  could  hug  'em. 
Meantime  thou,  poor  soul,  sittest  with  heart "  — 
"  Of  lead,  Gerard,  of  very  lead." 

"  See  now,  how  unkind  thy  lot  compared  with  mine. 
Now  how  if  thou  couldst  be  persuaded  to  warm  thyself 
at  the  fire  that  warmeth  me  ? 99 

"Ah,  if  I  could?" 

"  Hast  but  to  will  it.  Come  among  my  folk.  Take  in 
thine  hand  the  alms  I  set  aside,  and  give  it  with  kind 
words  ;  hear  their  sorrows  :  they  shall  show  you  life  is 
full  of  troubles,  and,  as  thou  sayest  truly,  no  man  or 
woman  without  their  thorn  this  side  the  grave.  In-doors 
I  have  a  map  of  G-ouda  parish.  Not  to  o'erburden  thee 
at  first,  I  will  put  twenty  housen  under  thee  with  their 
folk.  What  sayest  thou  ?  but  for  thy  wisdom  I  had 
died  a  dirty  maniac,  and  ne'er  seen  Gouda  manse,  nor 
pious  peace.  Wilt  profit  in  turn  by  what  little  wisdom 
/  have  to  soften  her  lot  to  whom  I  do  owe  all  ?  " 

Margaret  assented  warmly ;  and  a  happy  thing  it  was 
for  the  little  district  assigned  to  her ;  it  was  as  if  an 
angel  had  descended  on  them.  Her  fingers  were  never 
tired  of  knitting  or  cutting  for  them,  her  heart  of  sym- 
pathizing with  them.  And  that  heart  expanded  and 
waved  its  drooping  wings  ;  and  the  glow  of  good  and 
gentle  deeds  began  to  spread  over  it :  and  she  was  re- 
warded in  another  way,  by  being  brought  into  more  con- 
tact with  Gerard,  and  also  with  his  spirit.  All  this  time 
malicious  tongues  had  not  been  idle.  "  If  there  is  nought 
between  them  more  than  meets  the  eye,  why  doth  she 
not  marry  ?  "  etc.  And  I  am  sorry  to  say  our  old  friend 
Joan  Ketel  was  one  of  these  coarse  sceptics.    And  now, 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  463 


one  winter  evening  she  got  on  a  hot  scent.  She  saw 
Margaret  and  Gerard  talking  earnestly  together  on  the 
Boulevard.  She  whipped  behind  a  tree.  "Now  I'll 
hear  something,"  said  she :  and  so  she  did.  It  was  win- 
ter ;  there  had  been  one  of  those  tremendous  floods,  fol- 
lowed by  a  sharp  frost,  and  Gerard  in  despair  as  to 
where  he  should  lodge  forty  or  fifty  houseless  folk  out 
of  the  piercing  cold.  And  now  it  was,  "0  dear,  dear 
Margaret,  what  shall  I  do  ?  The  manse  is  full  of  them, 
and  a  sharp  frost  coming  on  this  night." 

Margaret  reflected,  and  Joan  listened. 

u  You  must  lodge  them  in  the  church,"  said  Margaret, 
quietly. 

"  In  the  church  ?  Profanation." 

"  No :  charity  profanes  nothing ;  not  even  a  church : 
soils  nought,  not  even  a  church.  To-day  is  but  Tuesday. 
Go  save  their  lives  ;  for  a  bitter  night  is  coming.  Take 
thy  stove  into  the  church :  and  there  house  them.  We 
will  dispose  of  them  here  and  there  ere  the  Lord's  day." 

"  And  I  could  not  think  of  that :  bless  thee,  sweet 
Margaret ;  thy  mind  is  stronger  than  mine,  and  readier." 

"  Nay,  nay,  a  woman  looks  but  a  little  way  ;  therefore 
she  sees  clear.    I'll  come  over  myself  to-morrow." 

And  on  this  they  parted  with  mutual  blessings. 

Joan  glided  home  remorseful. 

And  after  that  she  used  to  check  all  surmises  to  their 
discredit.  "Beware,"  she  would  say,  "lest  some  angel 
should  blister  thy  tongue.  Gerard  and  Margaret  para- 
mours ?  I  tell  ye  they  are  two  saints  which  meet  in 
secret  to  plot  charity  to  the  poor." 

In  the  summer  of  1481  Gerard  determined  to  provide 
against  similar  disasters  recurring  to  his  poor.  Accord- 
ingly he  made  a  great  hole  in  his  income,  and  bled  his 
friends  (zealous  parsons  always  do  that)  to  build  a  large 
Xenodochium  to  receive  the  victims  of  flood  or  fire. 


464 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


Giles  and  all  his  friends  were  kind,  but  all  was  not 
enough ;  when  lo  !  the  Dominican  monks  of  Gouda,  to 
whom  his  parlor  and  heart  had  been  open  for  years, 
came  out  nobly  and  put  down  a  handsome  sum  to  aid 
the  charitable  vicar. 

"The  dear  good  souls,"  said  Margaret,  "who  would 
have  thought  it ! " 

"  Any  one  who  knows  them,"  said  Gerard.  "  Who 
more  charitable  than  monks  ?  " 

"  Go  to !  They  do  but  give  the  laity  back  a  pig  of 
their  own  sow." 

"  And  what  more  do  I  ?    What  more  doth  the  duke  ?  " 

Then  the  ambitious  vicar  must  build  almshouses  for 
decayed  true  men  in  their  old  age,  close  to  the  manse, 
that  he  might  keep  and  feed  them,  as  well  as  lodge 
them.  And,  his  money  being  gone,  he  asked  Margaret 
for  a  few  thousand  bricks,  and  just  took  off  his  coat  and 
turned  builder;  and  as  he  had  a  good  head,  and  the 
strength  of  a  Hercules,  with  the  zeal  of  an  artist,  up 
rose  a  couple  of  almshouses  parson  built. 

And  at  this  work  Margaret  would  sometimes  bring 
him  his  dinner,  and  add  a  good  bottle  of  Ehenish.  And 
once,  seeing  him  run  up  a  plank  with  a  wheelbarrow  full 
of  bricks,  which  really  most  bricklayers  would  have  gone 
staggering  under,  she  said,  "  Times  are  changed  since  I 
had  to  carry  little  Gerard  for  thee." 

"  Ay,  dear  one,  thanks  to  thee." 

When  the  first  home  was  finished,  the  question  was 
who  they  should  put  into  it ;  and  being  fastidious  over 
it  like  a  new  toy,  there  was  much  hesitation.  But  an 
old  friend  arrived  in  time  to  settle  this  question. 

As  Gerard  was  passing  a  public  house  in  Eotterdam 
one  day,  he  heard  a  well-known  voice.  He  looked  up, 
and  there  was  Denys  of  Burgundy ;  but  sadly  changed  : 
his  beard  stained  with  gray,  and  his  clothes  worn  and 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  465 

ragged ;  he  had  a  cuirass  still,  and  gauntlets,  but  a  staff 
instead  of  an  arbalest.  To  the  company  he  appeared  to 
be  bragging  and  boasting ;  but  in  reality  he  was  giving 
a  true  relation  of  Edward  the  Fourth's  invasion  of  an 
armed  kingdom  with  two  thousand  men,  and  his  march 
through  the  country  with  armies  capable  of  swallowing 
him,  looking  on,  his  battles  at  Tewkesbury  and  Barnet, 
and  re-occupation  of  his  capital  and  kingdom  in  three 
months  after  landing  at  the  Humber  with  a  mixed  hand- 
ful of  Dutch,  English,  and  Burgundians. 

In  this,  the  greatest  feat  of  arms  the  century  had 
seen,  Denys  had  shone  ;  and  whilst  sneering  at  the  war- 
like pretensions  of  Charles  the  Bold,  a  duke  with  an 
itch,  but  no  talent,  for  fighting,  and  proclaiming  the 
English  king  the  first  captain  of  the  age,  did  not  forget 
to  exalt  himself. 

Gerard  listened  with  eyes  glittering  affection  and  fun. 
"And  now,"  said  Denys,  "after  all  these  feats,  patted 
on  the  back  by  the  gallant  young  Prince  of  Gloucester, 
and  smiled  on  by  the  great  captain  himself,  here  I  am 
lamed  for  life ;  by  what  ?  by  the  kick  of  a  horse,  and 
this  night  I  know  not  where  I  shall  lay  my  tired  bones. 
I  had  a  comrade  once  in  these  parts,  that  would  not 
have  let  me  lie  far  from  him.  But  he  turned  priest  and 
deserted  his  sweetheart ;  so  'tis  not  likely  he  would  re- 
member his  comrade.  And  ten  years  play  sad  havoc 
with  our  hearts,  and  limbs,  and  all."  Poor  Denys  sighed, 
and  Gerard's  bowels  yearned  over  him. 

"  What  words  are  these  ?  "  he  said,  with  a  great  gulp 
in  his  throat.  "  Who  grudges  a  brave  soldier  supper  and 
bed  ?    Come  home  with  me  ! " 

"  Much  obliged ;  but  I  am  no  lover  of  priests." 

"  Nor  I  of  soldiers  j  but  what  is  supper  and  bed  between 
two  true  men  ?  " 

*  Not  much  to  you ;  but  something  to  me.  1  will  come." 


466  THE  CLOISTER  AKD  THE  HEARTH. 


"  In  one  hour,"  said  Gerard,  and  went  in  high  spirits 
to  Margaret,  and  told  her  the  treat  in  store,  and  she  must 
come  and  share  it.  She  must  drive  his  mother  in  his 
little  carriage  up  to  the  manse  with  all  speed,  and  make 
ready  an  excellent  supper. 

Then  he  himself  borrowed  a  cart,  and  drove  Denys  up 
rather  slowly,  to  give  the  women  time. 

On  the  road  Denys  found  out  this  priest  was  a  kind 
soul ;  so  told  him  his  trouble,  and  confessed  his  heart  was 
pretty  near  broken.  "  The  great  use  our  stout  hearts, 
and  arms,  and  lives,  till  we  are  worn  out,  and  then 
fling  us  away  like  broken  tools."  He  sighed  deeply : 
and  it  cost  Gerard  a  great  struggle  not  to  hug  him  then 
and  there,  and  tell  him.  But  he  wanted  to  do  it  all  like 
a  story-book.  Who  has  not  had  this  fancy  once  in  his 
life  ?    Why,  Joseph  had  it ;  all  the  better  for  us. 

They  landed  at  the  little  house.  It  was  as  clean  as  a 
penny ;  the  hearth  blazing,  and  supper  set. 

Denys  brightened  up.  "  Is  this  your  house,  reverend 
sir  ?  " 

"  Well,  'tis  my  work,  and  with  these  hands ;  but  'tis 
your  house." 

"  Ah,  no  such  luck,"  said  Denys,  with  a  sigh. 

"  But  I  say  ay,"  shouted  Gerard.  "  And  what  is  more, 
I "  —  (gulp)  "  say  "  —  (gulp)  "  Courage,  camarade,  le 
(Liable  est  mort  /  " 

Denys  started,  and  almost  staggered.  "  Why,  what  ?  " 
he  stammered,  "  w — wh — who  art  thou,  that  bringest  me 
back  the  merry  words  and  merry  days  of  my  youth  ?  " 
and  he  was  greatly  agitated. 

"  My  poor  Denys,  I  am  one  whose  face  is  changed,  but 
nought  else  :  to  my  heart,  dear,  trusty  comrade,  to  my 
heart."  And  he  opened  his  arms,  with  the  tears  in  his 
eyes.  But  Denys  came  close  to  him,  and  peered  in  his 
face,  and  devoured  every  feature ;  and  when  he  was  sure 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  467 


it  was  really  Gerard,  he  uttered  a  cry  so  vehement  it 
brought  the  women  running  from  the  house,  and  fell 
upon  Gerard's  neck,  and  kissed  him  again  and  again, 
and  sank  on  his  knees,  and  laughed  and  sobbed  with  joy 
so  terribly  that  Gerard  mourned  his  folly  in  doing  dramas. 
But  the  women  with  their  gentle  soothing  ways  soon 
composed  the  brave  fellow  ;  and  he  sat  smiling,  and  hold- 
ing Margaret's  hand  and  Gerard's.  And  they  all  supped 
together,  and  went  to  their  beds  with  hearts  warm  as  a 
toast ;  and  the  broken  soldier  was  at  peace,  and  in  his 
own  house,  and  under  his  comrade's  wing. 

His  natural  gayety  returned,  and  he  resumed  his  con- 
signe  after  eight  years'  disuse,  and  hobbled  about  the 
place,  enlivening  it;  but  offended  the  parish  mortally, 
by  calling  the  adored  vicar  comrade,  and  nothing  but 
comrade. 

When  they  made  a  fuss  about  this  to  Gerard,  he  just 
looked  in  their  faces,  and  said,  "  What  does  it  matter  ? 
Break  him  of  swearing,  and  you  shall  have  my  thanks." 

This  year  Margaret  went  to  a  lawyer  to  make  her  will, 
for  without  this,  she  was  told,  her  boy  might  have  trouble 
some  day  to  get  his  own,  not  being  born  in  lawful  wed- 
lock. The  lawyer,  however,  in  conversation,  expressed  a 
different  opinion. 

"  This  is  the  babble  of  churchmen,"  said  he.  "  Yours 
is  a  perfect  marriage,  though  an  irregular  one." 

He  then  informed  her  that  throughout  Europe,  except- 
ing only  the  southern  part  of  Britain,  there  were  three 
irregular  marriages,  the  highest  of  which  was  hers,  viz., 
a  betrothal  before  witnesses. 

"  This,"  said  he,  "  if  not  followed  by  matrimonial  inter- 
course, is  a  marriage  complete  in  form,  but  incomplete  in 
substance.  A  person  so  betrothed  can  forbid  any  other 
banns  to  all  eternity.  It  has,  however,  been  set  aside, 
where  a  party  so  betrothed  contrived  to  get  married  reg- 


468 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


ularly,  and  children  were  born  thereafter.  But  such  a 
decision  was  for  the  sake  of  the  offspring,  and  of  doubtful 
justice.  However,  in  your  case,  the  birth  of  your  child 
closes  that  door,  and  your  marriage  is  complete  both  in 
form  and  substance.  Your  course,  therefore,  is  to  sue 
for  your  conjugal  rights  :  it  will  be  the  prettiest  case  of 
the  century.  The  law  is  all  on  our  side,  the  Church  all 
on  theirs.  If  you  come  to  that,  the  old  Batavian  law, 
which  compelled  the  clergy  to  marry,  hath  fallen  into 
disuse,  but  was  never  formally  repealed." 

Margaret  was  quite  puzzled.  "  What  are  you  driving 
at,  sir  ?    Who  am  I  to  go  to  law  with  ?  " 

"  Who  is  the  defendant  ?    Why,  the  vicar  of  Gouda." 

"  Alas,  poor  soul !    And  for  what  shall  I  law  him  V  " 

"  Why,  to  make  him  take  you  into  his  house,  and 
share  bed  and  board  with  you,  to  be  sure." 

Margaret  turned  red  as  fire.  "  Gramercy  for  your 
rede,"  said  she.  "  What,  is  yon  a  woman's  part  ?  Con- 
strain a  man  to  be  hers  by  force  ?  That  is  men's  way  of 
wooing,  not  ours.  Say  I  were  so  ill  a  woman  as  ye  think 
me,  I  should  set  myself  to  beguile  him,  not  to  law  him ;  " 
and  she  departed,  crimson  with  shame  and  indignation. 

"  There  is  an  impracticable  fool  for  you,"  said  the 
man  of  art. 

Margaret  had  her  will  drawn  elsewhere,  and  made  her 
boy  safe  from  poverty,  marriage  or  no  marriage. 

These  are  the  principal  incidents  that  in  ten  whole 
years  befell  two  peaceful  lives,  which  in  a  much  shorter 
period  had  been  so  thronged  with  adventures  and  emo- 
tions. 

Their  general  tenor  was  now  peace,  piety,  the  mild 
content  that  lasts,  not  the  fierce  bliss  ever  on  tiptoe  to 
depart,  and,  above  all,  Christian  charity. 

On  this  sacred  ground  these  two  true  lovers  met  with 
an  uniformity  and  a  kindness  of  sentiment  which  went 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  469 

far  to  soothe  the  wound  in  their  own  hearts.  To  pity 
the  same  bereaved;  to  hunt  in  couples  all  the  ills  in 
Gouda,  and  contrive  and  scheme  together  to  remedy  all 
that  were  remediable;  to  use  the  rare  insight  into 
troubled  hearts  which  their  own  troubles  had  given 
them,  and  use  it  to  make  others  happier  than  them- 
selves, this  was  their  daily  practice.  And  in  this  blessed 
cause  their  passion  for  one  another  cooled  a  little,  but 
their  affection  increased.  From  the  time  Margaret  en- 
tered heart  and  soul  into  Gerard's  pious  charities,  that 
affection  purged  itself  of  all  mortal  dross.  And  as  it 
had  now  long  outlived  scandal  and  misapprehension,  one 
would  have  thought  that  so  bright  an  example  of  pure 
self-denying  affection  was  to  remain  long  before  the 
world,  to  show  men  how  nearly  religious  faith,  even  when 
not  quite  reasonable,  and  religious  charity,  which  is 
always  reasonable,  could  raise  two  true  lovers'  hearts  to 
the  loving  hearts  of  the  angels  of  heaven.  But  the 
great  Disposer  of  events  ordered  otherwise. 

Little  Gerard  rejoiced  both  his  parents'  hearts  by  the 
extraordinary  progress  he  made  at  Alexander  Haaghe's 
famous  school  at  Deventer. 

The  last  time  Margaret  returned  from  visiting  him, 
she  came  to  Gerard  flushed  with  pride.  "  O  Gerard, 
he  will  be  a  great  man  one  day,  thanks  to  thy  wisdom 
in  taking  him  from  us  silly  women.  A  great  scholar, 
one  Zinthius,  came  to  see  the  school  and  judge  the 
scholars,  and  didn't  our  Gerard  stand  up,  and  not  a 
line  in  Horace  or  Terence  could  Zinthius  cite,  but  the 
boy  would  follow  him  with  the  rest.  'Why,  'tis  a 
prodigy/  says  that  great  scholar  ;  and  there  was  his  poor 
mother  stood  by  and  heard  it.  And  he  took  our  Gerard 
in  his  arms,  and  kissed  him;  and  what  think  you  he 
said?" 

"  Nay,  I  know  not." 


470 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


"  '  Holland  will  hear  of  thee  one  day  :  and  not  Holland 
only,  but  all  the  world.'    Why,  what  a  sad  brow  ! " 

"  Sweet  one,  I  am  as  glad  as  thou ;  yet  am  I  uneasy 
to  hear  the  child  is  wise  before  his  time.  I  love  him 
dear :  but  he  is  thine  idol ;  and  Heaven  doth  often  break 
our  idols." 

"  Make  thy  mind  easy,"  said  Margaret.  "  Heaven 
will  never  rob  me  of  my  child.  What  I  was  to  suffer  in 
this  world  I  have  suffered.  For  if  any  ill  happened  my 
child  or  thee,  I  should  not  live  a  week.  The  Lord  He 
knows  this,  and  He  will  leave  me  my  boy." 

A  month  had  elapsed  after  this ;  but  Margaret's  words 
were  yet  ringing  in  his  ears,  when,  going  his  daily 
round  of  visits  to  his  poor,  he  was  told  quite  incidentally 
and  as  mere  gossip  that  the  plague  was  at  Deventer, 
carried  thither  by  two  sailors  from  Hamburgh. 

His  heart  turned  cold  within  him.  News  did  not 
gallop  in  those  days.  The  fatal  disease  must  have  been 
there  a  long  time  before  the  tidings  would  reach  Gouda. 
He  sent  a  line  by  a  messenger  to  Margaret,  telling  her 
that  he  was  gone  to  fetch  little  Gerard  to  stay  at  the 
manse  a  little  while  ;  and  would  she  see  a  bed  prepared, 
for  he  should  be  back  next  day.  And  so  he  hoped  she 
would  not  hear  a  word  of  the  danger  till  it  was  all 
happily  over.  He  borrowed  a  good  horse,  and  scarce 
drew  rein  till  he  reached  Deventer,  quite  late  in  the 
afternoon.  He  went  at  once  to  the  school.  The  boy 
had  been  taken  away. 

As  he  left  the  school  he  caught  sight  of  Margaret's 
face  at  the  window  of  a  neighboring  house  she  always 
lodged  at  when  she  came  to  Deventer. 

He  ran  hastily  in  to  scold  her  and  pack  both  her  and 
the  boy  out  of  the  place. 

To  his  surprise  the  servant  told  him  with  some  hesita- 
tion that  Margaret  had  been  there,  but  was  gone. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  471 


"  Gone,  woman  ?  "  said  Gerard,  indignantly.  "  Art 
not  ashamed  to  say  so  ?  Why,  I  saw  her  but  now  at  the 
window." 

"  Oh,  if  you  saw  her  "  — 

A  sweet  voice  above  said,  "Stay  him  not,  let  him 
enter."    It  was  Margaret. 

Gerard  ran  up  the  stairs  to  her,  and  went  to  take  her 
hand. 

She  drew  back  hastily. 
He  looked  astounded. 

"I  am  displeased,"  said  she,  coldly.  "What  makes 
you  here  ?    Know  you  not  the  plague  is  in  the  town  ?  " 

"  Ay,  dear  Margaret :  and  came  straightway  to  take 
our  boy  away." 

"  What,  had  he  no  mother  ?  " 

"  How  you  speak  to  me  !    I  hoped  you  knew  not." 

"  What,  think  you  I  leave  my  boy  unwatched  ?  I  pay 
a  trusty  woman  that  notes  every  change  in  his  cheek 
when  I  am  not  here,  and  lets  me  know.  I  am  his 
mother." 

"  Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  In  Eotterdam,  I  hope,  ere  this." 

"  Thank  Heaven  !    And  why  are  you  not  there  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  fit  for  the  journey  :  never  heed  me  ;  go  you 
home  on  the  instant :  I'll  follow.  For  shame  of  you 
to  come  here  risking  your  precious  life." 

"  It  is  not  so  precious  as  thine,"  said  Gerard.  "  But  let 
that  pass  ;  we  will  go  home  together,  and  on  the  instant." 

"  Nay,  I  have  some  matters  to  do  in  the  town,  Go  thou 
at  once  ;  and  I  will  follow  forthwith." 

"  Leave  thee  alone  in  a  plague-stricken  town  ?  To 
whom  speak  you,  dear  Margaret  ?  " 

"  Nay,  then  we  shall  quarrel,  Gerard." 

"Methinks  I  see  Margaret  and  Gerard  quarrelling! 
Why,  it  takes  two  to  quarrel,  and  we  are  but  one." 


472  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


With  this  Gerard  smiled  on  her  sweetly.  But  there 
was  no  kind  responsive  glance.  She  looked  cold,  gloomy, 
and  troubled.  He  sighed,  and  sat  patiently  down  oppo- 
site her  with  his  face  all  puzzled  and  saddened.  He  said 
nothing :  for  he  felt  sure  she  would  explain  her  capri- 
cious conduct,  or  it  would  explain  itself. 

Presently  she  rose  hastily,  and  tried  to  reach  her 
bedroom  :  but  on  the  way  she  staggered  and  put  out  her 
hand.  He  ran  to  her  with  a  cry  of  alarm.  She  swooned 
in  his  arms.  He  laid  her  gently  on  the  ground,  and  beat 
her  cold  hands,  and  ran  to  her  bedroom,  and  fetched 
water,  and  sprinkled  her  pale  face.  His  own  was  scarce 
less  pale ;  for  in  a  basin  he  had  seen  water  stained  with 
blood :  it  alarmed  him,  he  knew  not  why.  She  was  a 
long  time  ere  she  revived,  and  when  she  did  she  found 
Gerard  holding  her  hand,  and  bending  over  her  with  a 
look  of  infinite  concern  and  tenderness.  She  seemed  at 
first  as  if  she  responded  to  it,  but  the  next  moment  her 
eyes  dilated,  and  she  cried,  "  Ah,  wretch,  leave  my  hand ; 
how  dare  you  touch  me?" 

"Heaven  help  her!"  said  Gerard.  "She  is  not 
herself." 

"  You  will  not  leave  me,  then,  Gerard  ? "  said  she, 
faintly.  "  Alas  !  why  do  I  ask  ?  Would  I  leave  thee  if 
thou  wert  —  At  least  touch  me  not,  and  then  I  will  let 
thee  bide,  and  see  the  last  of  poor  Margaret.  She  ne'er 
spoke  harsh  to  thee  before,  sweetheart;  and  she  never 
will  again." 

"  Alas  !  what  mean  these  dark  words,  these  wild  and 
troubled  looks  ?  "  said  Gerard,  clasping  his  hands. 

"  My  poor  Gerard,"  said  Margaret,  "  forgive  me  that  I 
spoke  so  to  thee.  I  am  but  a  woman,  and  would  have 
spared  thee  a  sight  will  make  thee  weep."  She  burst 
into  tears.  "Ah,  me!"  she  cried,  weeping,  "that  I 
cannot  keep  grief  from  thee :  there  is  a  great  sorrow 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


473 


before  my  darling,  and  this  time  I  shall  not  be  able  to 
come  and  dry  his  eyes." 

"  Let  it  come,  Margaret,  so  it  touch  not  thee,"  said 
Gerard,  trembling. 

"  Dearest,"  said  Margaret,  solemnly,  "  call  now  religion 
to  thine  aid  and  mine.  I  must  have  died  before  thee 
one  day,  or  else  outlived  thee  and  so  died  of  grief." 

"  Died  ?  thou  die  ?  I  will  never  let  thee  die.  Where 
is  thy  pain  ?    What  is  thy  trouble  ?  " 

"  The  plague,"  said  she  calmly.  Gerard  uttered  a  cry 
of  horror,  and  started  to  his  feet :  she  read  his  thought. 
"  Useless,"  said  she,  quietly.  "  My  nose  hath  bled ;  none 
ever  yet  survived  to  whom  that  came  along  with  the 
plague.  Bring  no  fools  hither  to  babble  over  the  body 
they  cannot  save.  I  am  but  a  woman  ;  I  love  not  to  be 
stared  at ;  let  none  see  me  die  but  thee." 

And  even  with  this  a  convulsion  seized  her,  and  she 
remained  sensible  but  speechless  a  long  time. 

And  now  for  the  first  time  Gerard  began  to  realize  the 
frightful  truth,  and  he  ran  wildly  to  and  fro,  and  cried  to 
Heaven  for  help  as  drowning  men  cry  to  their  fellow- 
creatures.  She  raised  herself  on  her  arm,  and  set  her- 
self to  quiet  him. 

She  told  him  she  had  known  the  torture  of  hopes  and 
fears,  and  was  resolved  to  spare  him  that  agony.  "  I  let 
my  mind  dwell  too  much  on  the  danger,"  said  she,  "and 
so  opened  my  brain  to  it ;  through  which  door  when  this 
subtle  venom  enters  it  makes  short  work.  I  shall  not  be 
spotted  or  loathsome,  my  poor  darling ;  God  is  good  and 
spares  thee  that ;  but  in  twelve  hours  I  shall  be  a  dead 
woman.  Ah,  look  not  so,  but  be  a  man :  be  a  priest ! 
Waste  not  one  precious  minute  over  my  body;  it  is 
doomed ;  but  comfort  my  parting  soul." 

Gerard  sick  and  cold  at  heart  kneeled  down,  and 
prayed  for  help  from  Heaven  to  do  his  duty. 


474 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


When  he  rose  from  his  knees  his  face  was  pale  and 
old,  but  deadly  calm  and  patient.  He  went  softly  and 
brought  her  bed  into  the  room,  and  laid  her  gently  down 
and  supported  her  head  with  pillows.  Then  he  prayed 
by  her  side  the  prayers  for  the  dying,  and  she  said  Amen 
to  each  prayer.  Then  for  some  hours  she  wandered,  but 
when  the  fell  disease  had  quite  made  sure  of  its  prey, 
her  mind  cleared ;  and  she  begged  Gerard  to  shrive  her  j 
"  For  oh,  my  conscience  it  is  laden,"  said  she,  sadly. 

"  Confess  thy  sins  to  me,  my  daughter  ;  let  there  be  no 
reserve." 

"  My  father,"  said  she  sadly,  "  I  have  one  great  sin  on 
my  breast  this  many  years.  E'en  now  that  death  is  at 
my  heart,  I  can  scarce  own  it.  But  the  Lord  is  debonair: 
if  thou  wilt  pray  to  Him,  perchance  He  may  forgive  me." 

"  Confess  it  first,  my  daughter." 

"I  — alas!" 

"Confess  it!" 

"  I  deceived  thee.  This  many  years  I  have  deceived 
thee." 

Here  tears  interrupted  her  speech. 

"  Courage,  my  daughter,  courage,"  said  Gerard,  kindly, 
overpowering  the  lover  in  the  priest. 

She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  with  many  sighs 
told  him  it  was  she  who  had  broken  down  the  hermit's 
cave  with  the  help  of  Jorian  Ketel.  "  I,  shallow,  did  it 
but  to  hinder  thy  return  thither ;  but  when  thou  sawest 
therein  the  finger  of  God,  I  played  the  traitress,  and 
said,  'While  he  thinks  so  he  will  ne'er  leave  Gouda 
manse ; '  and  I  held  my  tongue.    0  false  heart ! " 

"  Courage,  my  daughter ;  thou  dost  exaggerate  a  trivial 
fault." 

"Ah,  but  'tis  not  all.    The  birds." 
"Well?" 

"  They  followed  thee  not  to  Gouda  by  miracle  but  by 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  475 


my  treason.  I  said,  he  will  ne'er  be  quite  happy  with- 
out his  birds  that  visited  him  in  his  cell ;  and  I  was 
jealous  of  them,  and  cried,  and  said,  these  foul  little 
things,  they  are  my  child's  rivals.  And  I  bought  loaves 
of  bread,  and  Jorian  and  me  we  put  crumbs  at  the  cave 
door,  and  thence  went  sprinkling  them  all  the  way  tc 
the  manse,  and  there  a  heap.  And  my  wiles  succeeded, 
and  they  came,  and  thou  wast  glad,  and  I  was  pleased  to 
see  thee  glad ;  and  when  thou  sawest  in  my  guile  the 
finger  of  Heaven,  wicked,  deceitful,  I  did  hold  my 
tongue.  But  die  deceiving  thee  ?  ah,  no.  I  could  not. 
Forgive  me  if  thou  canst ;  I  was  but  a  woman ;  I  knew 
no  better  at  the  time.  'Twas  writ  in  my  bosom  with  a 
very  sunbeam,  'Tis  good  for  him  to  bide  at  Gouda 
manse.' " 

"  Forgive  thee,  sweet  innocent  ? "  sobbed  Gerard, 
"  what  have  /  to  forgive  ?  Thou  hadst  a  foolish  f  ro- 
ward  child  to  guide  to  his  own  weal,  and  didst  all  this 
for  the  best.  I  thank  thee  and  bless  thee.  But  as  thy 
confessor,  all  deceit  is  ill  in  Heaven's  pure  eye.  There- 
fore thou  hast  done  well  to  confess  and  report  it ;  and 
even  on  thy  confession  and  penitence  the  Church  through 
me  absolves  thee.    Pass  to  thy  graver  faults." 

"  My  graver  faults  ?  Alas  !  alas  !  Why,  what  have  I 
done  to  compare  ?  I  am  not  an  ill  woman,  not  a  very  ill 
one.  If  He  can  forgive  me  deceiving  thee,  He  can  well 
forgive  me  all  the  rest  ever  I  did." 

Being  gently  pressed,  she  said  she  was  to  blame  not  to 
have  done  more  good  in  the  world.  "I  had  just  begun 
to  do  a  little,"  she  said ;  "  and  now  I  must  go.  But  I 
repine  not,  since  'tis  Heaven's  will.  Only  I  am  so  afeard 
thou  wilt  miss  me."  And  at  this  she  could  not  restrain 
her  tears,  though  she  tried  hard. 

Gerard  struggled  with  his  as  well  as  he  could ;  and, 
knowing  her  life  of  piety,  purity,  and  charity,  and  see- 


476  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

ing  that  she  could  not,  in  her  present  state,  realize  any 
sin  but  her  having  deceived  him,  gave  her  full  absolu- 
tion. Then  he  put  the  crucifix  in  her  hand,  and,  while 
he  consecrated  the  oil,  bade  her  fix  her  mind  neither  on 
her  merits  nor  her  demerits,  but  on  Him  who  died  for 
her  on  the  tree. 

She  obeyed  him,  with  a  look  of  confiding  love  and 
submission. 

And  he  touched  her  eyes  with  the  consecrated  oil,  and 
prayed  aloud  beside  her. 
Soon  after  she  dozed. 

He  watched  beside  her,  more  dead  than  alive  himself. 

When  the  day  broke  she  awoke,  and  seemed  to  acquire 
some  energy.  She  begged  him  to  look  in  her  box  for  her 
marriage  lines,  and  for  a  picture,  and  bring  them  both  to 
her.  He  did  so.  She  then  entreated  him  by  all  they  had 
suffered  for  each  other,  to  ease  her  mind  by  making  a 
solemn  vow  to  execute  her  dying  requests. 

He  vowed  to  obey  them  to  the  letter. 

"Then,  Gerard,  let  no  creature  come  here  to  lay  me 
out.  I  could  not  bear  to  be  stared  at ;  my  very  corpse 
would  blush.  Also,  I  would  not  be  made  a  monster  of 
for  the  worms  to  sneer  at  as  well  as  feed  on.  Also,  my 
very  clothes  are  tainted,  and  shall  to  earth  with  me.  I 
am  a  physician's  daughter :  and  ill  becomes  me  kill  folk, 
being  dead,  which  did  so  little  good  to  men  in  the  days 
of  health  ;  wherefore  lap  me  in  lead  the  way  I  am,  and 
bury  me  deep  !  yet  not  so  deep  but  what  one  day  thou 
mayst  find  the  way,  and  lay  thy  bones  by  mine. 

"  Whiles  I  lived  I  went  to  Gouda  but  once  or  twice  a 
week.  It  cost  me  not  to  go  each  day.  Let  me  gain  this 
by  dying,  to  be  always  at  dear  Gouda —  in  the  green 
kirkyard. 

"  Also,  they  do  say  the  spirit  hovers  where  the  body 
lies  :  I  would  have  my  spirit  hover  near  thee,  and  the 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  477 


kirkyard  is  not  far  from  the  manse.  I  am  so  afeard 
some  ill  will  happen  thee,  Margaret  being  gone. 

"And  see,  with  mine  own  hands  I  place  my  marriage 
lines  in  my  bosom.  Let  no  living  hand  move  them,  on 
pain  of  thy  curse  and  mine.  Then,  when  the  angel  comes 
for  me  at  the  last  day,  he  shall  say,  this  is  an  honest 
woman ;  she  hath  her  marriage  lines  (for  you  know  I  am 
your  lawful  wife,  though  holy  Church  hath  come  between 
us),  and  he  will  set  me  where  the  honest  women  be.  I 
will  not  sit  among  ill  women,  no,  not  in  heaven ;  for  their 
mind  is  not  my  mind,  nor  their  soul  my  soul.  I  have 
stood,  unbeknown,  at  my  window,  and  heard  their  talk." 

For  some  time  she  was  unable  to  say  any  more,  but 
made  signs  to  him  that  she  had  not  done. 

At  last  she  recovered  her  breath,  and  bade  him  look  at 
the  picture. 

It  was  the  portrait  he  had  made  of  her  when  they  were 
young  together,  and  little  thought  to  part  so  soon.  He 
held  it  in  his  hands  and  looked  at  it,  but  could  scarce  see 
it.    He  had  left  it  in  fragments,  but  now  it  was  whole. 

"  They  cut  it  to  pieces,  Gerard.  But  see,  Love  mocked 
at  their  knives. 

"  I  implore  thee  with  my  dying  breath,  let  this  picture 
hang  ever  in  thine  eye. 

"I  have  heard  that  such  as  die  of  the  plague,  unspotted, 
yet  after  death  spots  have  been  known  to  come  out ;  and, 
oh,  I  could  not  bear  thy  last  memory  of  me  to  be  so  ! 
Therefore,  as  soon  as  the  breath  is  out  of  my  body,  cover 
my  face  with  this  handkerchief,  and  look  at  me  no  more 
till  we  meet  again ;  'twill  not  be  so  very  long.  Oh, 
promise  ! " 

"  I  promise,"  said  Gerard,  sobbing. 

"  But  look  on  this  picture  instead.  Forgive  me  ;  I  am 
but  a  woman.  I  could  not  bear  my  face  to  lie  a  foul 
thing  in  thy  memory.    Nay,  I  must  have  thee  still  think 


478  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


me  as  fair  as  I  was  true.  Hast  called  me  an  angel  once 
or  twice ;  but  be  just !  did  I  not  still  tell  thee  I  was  no 
angel,  but  only  a  poor  simple  woman,  that  whiles  saw 
clearer  than  thou  because  she  looked  but  a  little  way, 
and  that  loves  thee  dearly,  and  never  loved  but  thee,  and 
now  with  her  dying  breath  prays  thee  indulge  her  in  this, 
thou  that  art  a  man." 

"I  will,  I  will.    Each  word,  each  wish  is  sacred." 

"  Bless  thee  !  bless  thee  !  So  then  the  eyes  that  now 
can  scarce  see  thee,  they  are  so  troubled  by  the  pest,  and 
the  lips  that  shall  not  touch  thee  to  taint  thee,  will  still 
be  before  thee,  as  they  were  when  we  were  young,  and 
thou  didst  love  me." 

"  When  I  did  love  thee,  Margaret !  Oh,  never  loved  I 
thee  as  now." 

"  Hast  not  told  me  so  of  late." 

"Alas  !  hath  love  no  voice  but  words  ?  I  was  a  priest ; 
I  had  charge  of  thy  soul ;  the  sweet  offices  of  a  pure  love 
were  lawful ;  words  of  love  imprudent  at  the  least.  But 
now  the  good  fight  is  won,  ah  me  !  Oh,  my  love,  if  thou 
hast  lived  doubting  of  thy  Gerard's  heart,  die  not  so  :  for 
never  was  woman  loved  so  tenderly  as  thou  this  ten  years 
past." 

"  Calm  thyself,  dear  one,"  said  the  dying  woman,  with 
a  heavenly  smile.  "  I  know  it :  only,  being  but  a  woman, 
I  could  not  die  happy  till  I  had  heard  thee  say  so.  Ah,  I 
have  pined  ten  years  for  those  sweet  words.  Hast  said 
them ;  and  this  is  the  happiest  hour  of  my  life.  I  had 
to  die  to  get  them  ;  well,  I  grudge  not  the  price." 

From  this  moment  a  gentle  complacency  rested  on  her 
fading  features,  but  she  did  not  speak. 

Then  Gerard,  who  had  loved  her  soul  so  many  years, 
feared  lest  she  should  expire  with  a  mind  too  fixed  on 
earthly  affection.  "0  my  daughter,"  he  cried,  "my 
dear  daughter,  if  indeed  thou  lovest  me  as  I  love  thee, 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  479 


give  me  not  the  pain  of  seeing  thee  die  with  thy  pious 
soul  fixed  on  mortal  things. 

"  Dearest  lamb  of  all  my  f old,  for  whose  soul  I  must 
answer,  oh,  think  not  now  of  mortal  love,  but  of  His  who 
died  for  thee  on  the  tree.  Oh,  let  thy  last  look  be  heaven- 
wards, thy  last  word  a  word  of  prayer." 

She  turned  a  look  of  gratitude  and  obedience  on 
him.  "What  saint?"  she  murmured:  meaning,  doubt- 
less, "  what  saint  should  she  invoke  as  an  intercessor." 

"He  to  whom  the  saints  themselves  do  pray." 

She  turned  on  him  one  more  sweet  look  of  love  and 
submission,  and  put  her  pretty  hands  together  in  prayer 
like  a  child. 

"Jesu/" 

This  blessed  word  was  her  last.  She  lay  with  her 
eyes  heavenwards,  and  her  hands  put  together. 

Gerard  prayed  fervently  for  her  passing  spirit.  And 
when  he  had  prayed  a  long  time  with  his  head  averted, 
not  to  see  her  last  breath,  all  seemed  unnaturally  still. 
He  turned  his  head  fearfully.    It  was  so. 

She  was  gone. 

Nothing  left  him  now  but  the  earthly  shell  of  as 
constant,  pure,  and  loving  a  spirit  as  ever  adorned  the 
earth. 


480  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

A  priest  is  never  more  thoroughly  a  priest  than  in 
the  chamber  of  death.  Gerard  did  the  last  offices  of  the 
Church  for  the  departed,  just  as  he  should  have  done 
them  for  his  smallest  parishioner.  He  did  this  mechan- 
ically, then  sat  down  stupefied  by  the  sudden  and  tre- 
mendous blow ;  and  not  yet  realizing  the  pangs  of 
bereavement.  Then  in  a  transport  of  religious  enthu- 
siasm he  kneeled  and  thanked  Heaven  for  her  Christian 
end. 

And  then  all  his  thought  was  to  take  her  away  from 
strangers,  and  lay  her  in  his  'own  churchyard.  That  very 
evening  a  covered  cart  with  one  horse  started  for  Gouda, 
and  in  it  was  a  coffin,  and  a  broken-hearted  man  lying 
with  his  arms  and  chin  resting  on  it. 

The  mourner's  short-lived  energy  had  exhausted  itself 
in  the  necessary  preparations,  and  now  he  lay  crushed, 
clinging  to  the  cold  lead  that  held  her. 

The  man  of  whom  the  cart  was  hired  walked  by  the 
horse's  head,  and  did  not  speak  to  him,  and  when  he 
baited  the  horse,  spoke  but  in  a  whisper  respecting  that 
mute  agony.  But,  when  he  stopped  for  the  night,  he 
and  the  landlord  made  a  well-meaning  attempt  to  get  the 
mourner  away  to  take  some  rest  and  food.  But  Gerard 
repulsed  them,  and,  when  they  persisted,  almost  snarled 
at  them,  like  a  faithful  dog,  and  clung  to  the  cold  lead 
all  night.  So  then  they  drew  a  cloak  over  him,  and  left 
him  in  peace. 

And  at  noon  the  sorrowful  cart  came  up  to  the  manse, 
and  there  were  full  a  score  of  parishioners  collected  with 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  48l 


one  little  paltry  trouble  or  another.  They  had  missed 
the  parson  already.  And  when  they  saw  what  it  was, 
and  saw  their  healer  so  stricken  down,  they  raised  a  loud 
wail  of  grief,  and  it  roused  him  from  his  lethargy  of  woe, 
and  he  saw  where  he  was,  and  their  faces,  and  tried  to 
speak  to  them.  "  O  my  children  !  my  children  ! "  he 
cried  ;  but  choked  with  anguish  could  say  no  more. 

Yet  the  next  day,  spite  of  all  remonstrances,  he  buried 
her  himself,  and  read  the  service  with  a  voice  that  only 
trembled  now  and  then.  Many  tears  fell  upon  her  grave. 
And  when  the  service  ended,  he  stayed  there  standing 
like  a  statue,  and  the  people  left  the  churchyard  out  of 
respect. 

He  stood  like  one  in  a  dream,  till  the  sexton,  who  was, 
as  most  men  are,  a  fool,  began  to  fill  in  the  grave  with- 
out giving  him  due  warning. 

But  at  the  sound  of  earth  falling  on  her,  Gerard  uttered 
a  piercing  scream. 

The  sexton  forbore. 

Gerard  staggered  and  put  his  hand  to  his  breast.  The 
sexton  supported  him,  and  called  for  help. 

Jorian  Ketel,  who  lingered  near,  mourning  his  bene- 
factress, ran  into  the  churchyard,  and  the  two  supported 
Gerard  into  the  manse. 

"  Ah,  Jorian  !  good  Jorian  !  "  said  he,  "  something 
snapped  within  me ;  I  felt  it,  and  I  heard  it :  here, 
Jorian,  here  :  "  and  he  put  his  hand  to  his  breast. 


482  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

A  fortnight  after  this  a  pale,  bowed  figure  entered 
the  Dominican  convent  in  the  suburbs  of  Gouda,  and 
sought  speech  with  Brother  Ambrose,  who  governed  the 
convent  as  deputy,  the  prior  having  lately  died,  and  his 
successor,  though  appointed,  not  having  arrived. 

The  sick  man  was  Gerard,  come  to  end  life  as  he  began 
it.  He  entered  as  a  novice,  on  probation  ;  but  the  truth 
was,  he  was  a  failing  man,  and  knew  it,  and  came  there 
to  die  in  peace,  near  kind  and  gentle  Ambrose,  his  friend, 
and  the  other  monks,  to  whom  his  house  and  heart  had 
always  been  open. 

His  manse  was  more  than  he  could  bear ;  it  was  too 
full  of  reminiscences  of  her. 

Ambrose,  who  knew  his  value  and  his  sorrow,  was  not 
without  a  kindly  hope  of  curing  him,  and  restoring  him 
to  his  parish.  With  this  view  he  put  him  in  a  comfort- 
able cell  over  the  gateway,  and  forbade  him  to  fast  or 
practise  any  austerities. 

But  in  a  few  days  the  new  prior  arrived,  and  proved  a 
very  Tartar.  At  first  he  was  absorbed  in  curing  abuses, 
and  tightening  the  general  discipline  ;  but  one  day  hear- 
ing the  vicar  of  Gouda  had  entered  the  convent  as  a 
novice,  he  said,  "  'Tis  well ;  let  him  first  give  up  his 
vicarage,  then,  or  go  :  Fll  no  fat  parsons  in  my  house." 
The  prior  then  sent  for  Gerard,  and  he  went  to  him  ;  and 
the  moment  they  saw  one  another  they  both  started. 

"  Clement !  " 

"  Jerome ! " 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  483 


CHAPTER  L. 

Jerome  was  as  morose  as  ever  in  his  general  charac- 
ter, but  he  had  somewhat  softened  towards  Gerard.  All 
the  time  he  was  in  England  he  had  missed  him  more 
than  he  thought  possible,  and  since  then  had  often  won- 
dered what  had  become  of  him.  What  he  heard  in 
Gouda  raised  his  feeble  brother  in  his  good  opinion; 
above  all,  that  he  had  withstood  the  Pope  and  the  Minor- 
ites on  "the  infernal  heresy  of  the  immaculate  con- 
ception," as  he  called  it.  But  when  one  of  his  young 
monks  told  him  with  tears  in  his  eyes  the  cause  of 
Gerard's  illness,  all  his  contempt  revived.  "  Dying  for 
a  woman  ?  " 

He  determined  to  avert  this  scandal :  he  visited  Clem- 
ent twice  a  day  in  his  cell,  and  tried  all  his  old  influence 
and  all  his  eloquence  to  induce  him  to  shake  off  this 
unspiritual  despondency,  and  not  rob  the  Church  of  his 
piety  and  his  eloquence  at  so  critical  a  period. 

Gerard  heard  him,  approved  his  reasoning,  admired 
his  strength,  confessed  his  own  weakness,  and  continued 
visibly  to  wear  away  to  the  land  of  the  leal.  One  day 
Jerome  told  him  he  had  heard  his  story,  and  heard  it 
with  pride.  "But  now,"  said  he,  "you  spoil  it  all, 
Clement;  for  this  is  the  triumph  of  earthly  passion. 
Better  have  yielded  to  it,  and  repented,  than  resist  it 
while  she  lived,  and  succumb  under  it  now,  body  and 
soul." 

"  Dear  Jerome,"  said  Clement,  so  sweetly  as  to  rob  his 
remonstrance  of  the  tone  of  remonstrance,  "here,  I 
think,  you  do  me  some  injustice.    Passion  there  is  none, 


484  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 

but  a  deep  affection,  for  which  I  will  not  blush  here, 
since  I  shall  not  blush  for  it  in  heaven.  Bethink  thee, 
J eroine ;  the  poor  dog  that  dies  of  grief  on  his  master's 
grave,  is  he  guilty  of  passion  ?  Neither  am  I.  Passion 
had  saved  my  life,  and  lost  my  soul.  She  was  my  good 
angel:  she  sustained  me  in  my  duty  and  charity:  her 
face  encouraged  me  in  the  pulpit :  her  lips  soothed  me 
under  ingratitude.  She  intertwined  herself  with  all 
that  was  good  in  my  life ;  and  after  leaning  on  her  so 
long,  I  could  not  go  on  alone.  And,  dear  J erome,  believe 
me,  I  am  no  rebel  against  heaven.  It  is  God's  will  to 
release  me.  When  they  threw  the  earth  upon  her  poor 
coffin,  something  snapped  within  my  bosom  here  that 
mended  may  not  be.  I  heard  it  and  I  felt  it.  And 
from  that  time,  Jerome,  no  food  that  I  put  in  my 
mouth  had  any  savor.  With  my  eyes  bandaged  now  I 
could  not  tell  thee  which  was  bread,  and  which  was  flesh, 
by  eating  of  it." 
"Holy  saints!" 

"  And  again,  from  that  same  hour  my  deep  dejection 
left  me,  and  I  smiled  again.  I  often  smile — why  ?  I 
read  it  thus  :  He  in  whose  hands  are  the  issues  of  life 
and  death  gave  me  that  minute  the  great  summons; 
'twas  some  cord  of  life  snapped  in  me.  He  is  very  piti- 
ful. I  should  have  lived  unhappy ;  but  He  said,  '  No ; 
enough  is  done,  enough  is  suffered ;  poor,  feeble,  loving 
servant,  thy  shortcomings  are  forgiven,  thy  sorrows 
touch  thine  end ;  come  thou  to  thy  rest ! '  I  come, 
Lord,  I  come  !  " 

Jerome  groaned.  "  The  Church  had  ever  her  holy  but 
feeble  servants,"  he  said.  "  Now  would  I  give  ten 
years  of  my  life  to  save  thine  j  but  I  see  it  may  not  be. 
Die  in  peace." 

And  so  it  was  that  in  a  few  days  more,  Gerard  lay 
a-dying  in  a  frame  of  mind  so  holy  and  happy  that  more 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH.  485 


than  one  aged  saint  was  there  to  garner  his  dying  words. 
In  the  evening  he  had  seen  Giles,  and  begged  him  not 
to  let  poor  Jack  starve,  and  to  see  that  little  Gerard's 
trustees  did  their  duty,  and  to  kiss  his  parents  for  him, 
and  to  send  Denys  to  his  friends  in  Burgundy  :  "  Poor 
thing,  he  will  feel  so  strange  here  without  his  comrade." 
And  after  that  he  had  an  interview  with  Jerome  alone. 
What  passed  between  them  was  never  distinctly  known  ; 
but  it  must  have  been  something  remarkable,  for  Jerome 
went  from  the  door  with  his  hands  crossed  on  his  breast, 
his  high  head  lowered,  and  sighing  as  he  went. 

The  two  monks  that  watched  with  him  till  matins, 
related  that  all  through  the  night  he  broke  out  from  time 
to  time  in  pious  exclamations,  and  praises,  and  thanksgiv- 
ings ;  only  once  they  said  he  wandered,  and  thought  he 
saw  her  walking  in  green  meadows  with  other  spirits 
clad  in  white,  and  beckoning  him ;  and  they  all  smiled 
and  beckoned  him.  And  both  these  monks  said  (but  it 
might  have  been  fancy)  that  just  before  dawn  there  came 
three  light  taps  against  the  wall,  one  after  another,  very 
slow  ;  and  the  dying  man  heard  them,  and  said,  "  I  come, 
love,  I  come." 

This  much  is  certain,  that  Gerard  did  utter  these 
words,  and  prepare  for  his  departure,  having  uttered 
them.  He  sent  for  all  the  monks  who  at  that  hour  were 
keeping  vigil.  They  came,  and  hovered  like  gentle 
spirits  round  him  with  holy  words.  Some  prayed  in 
silence  for  him  with  their  faces  touching  the  ground, 
others  tenderly  supported  his  head.  But  when  one  of 
them  said  something  about  his  life  of  self-denial  and 
charity,  he  stopped  him,  and,  addressing  them  all,  said, 
"  My  dear  brethren,  take  note  that  he,  who  here  dies  so 
happy,  holds  not  these  new-fangled  doctrines  of  man's 
merit.  Oh,  what  a  miserable  hour  were  this  to  me  an  if 
I  did!    Nay,  but  I  hold  with  the  apostles,  and  their 


486 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


pupils  in  the  Church,  the  ancient  fathers,  that  '  we  are 
justified  not  by  our  own  wisdom,  or  piety,  or  the  works 
we  have  done  in  holiness  of  heart,  but  by  faith.' " 1 

Then  there  was  a  silence,  and  the  monks  looked  at  one 
another  significantly. 

"  Please  you  sweep  the  floor,"  said  the  dying  Christian 
in  a  voice  to  which  all  its  clearness  and  force  seemed 
supernaturally  restored. 

They  instantly  obeyed,  not  without  a  sentiment  of  awe 
and  curiosity. 

"Make  me  a  great  cross  with  wood  ashes." 

They  strewed  the  ashes  in  form  of  a  great  cross  upon 
the  floor. 

"  Now  lay  me  down  on  it ;  for  so  will  I  die." 

And  they  took  him  gently  from  his  bed,  and  laid  him 
on  the  cross  of  wood  ashes. 

"  Shall  we  spread  out  thine  arms,  dear  brother  ?  " 

"Now  God  forbid  !    Am  I  worthy  of  that  ?  " 

He  lay  silent,  but  with  his  eyes  raised  in  ecstasy. 

Presently  he  spoke  half  to  them,  half  to  himself. 
"  Oh,"  he  said  with  a  subdued  but  concentrated  rapture, 
"I  feel  it  buoyant.  It  lifts  me  floating  in  the  sky  whence 
my  merits  had  sunk  me  like  lead." 

Day  broke,  and  displayed  his  face  cast  upward  in 
silent  rapture,  and  his  hands  together,  like  Margaret's. 

And  just  about  the  hour  she  died  he  spoke  his  last 
word  in  this  world  : 

"Jesu." 

And  even  with  that  word  —  he  fell  asleep. 
They  laid  him  out  for  his  last  resting-place. 
Under  his  linen  they  found  a  horse-hair  shirt.   "  Ah ! " 
cried  the  young  monks,  "  behold  a  saint ! " 

1  He  was  citing  from  Clement  of  Rome  : 

"  Qv  6i  £<zvt(i>v  SiKatov/jieda  ovdz  Sia  rr\i  ^/i£r£pa?  (rorpias,  rj  svo£0£ia;,  rj  epywi 
tv  KaT£(»)ya<jan£da  zv  haioir\Ti  icapdias,  a\\a  Sta  rr)s  T«mwj." —  Epist.  ad  Corinth 
i.  32. 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH, 


487 


Under  the  hair-cloth  they  found  a  long  thick  tress 
of  auburn  hair. 

They  started,  and  were  horrified ;  and  a  babel  of  voices 
arose,  some  condemning,  some  excusing. 

In  the  midst  of  which  Jerome  came  in,  and,  hearing 
the  dispute,  turned  to  an  ardent  young  monk  called 
Basil,  who  was  crying  scandal  the  loudest.  "  Basil," 
said  he,  "  is  she  alive  or  dead  that  owned  this  hair  ?  " 

"  How  may  I  know,  father  ?  " 

"  Then  for  aught  you  know  it  may  be  the  relic  of  a 
saint  ?" 

"  Certes  it  may  be,"  said  Basil  sceptically. 

"You  have  then  broken  our  rule,  which  saith,  'Put  ill 
construction  on  no  act  done  by  a  brother  which  can  be 
construed  innocently.'  Who  are  you  to  judge  such  a 
man  as  this  was  ?  go  to  your  cell,  and  stir  not  out  for  a 
week  by  way  of  penance." 

He  then  carried  off  the  lock  of  hair. 

And  when  the  coffin  was  to  be  closed,  he  cleared  the 
ce^l,  and  put  the  tress  upon  the  dead  man's  bosom. 
"  There,  Clement,"  said  he  to  the  dead  face.  And  set 
himself  a  penance  for  doing  it,  and  nailed  the  coffin  up 
himself. 

The  next  day  Gerard  was  buried  in  Gouda  churchyard. 
The  monks  followed  him  in  procession  from  the  convent. 
Jerome,  who  was  evidently  carrying  out  the  wishes  of 
the  deceased,  read  the  service.  The  grave  was  a  deep 
one,  and  at  the  bottom  of  it  was  a  lead  coffin.  Poor 
Gerard's,  light  as  a  feather  (so  wasted  was  he),  was  low- 
ered, and  placed  by  the  side  of  it. 

After  the  service  Jerome  said  a  few  words  to  the 
crowd  of  parishioners  that  had  come  to  take  the  last 
look  at  their  best  friend.  When  he  spoke  of  the  virtues 
of  the  departed,  loud  wailing  and  weeping  burst  forth, 
and  tears  fell  upon  the  coffin  like  rain. 


488  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH 


The  monks  went  home.  Jerome  collected  them  in  the 
refectory  and  spoke  to  them  thus :  "  We  have  this  day- 
laid  a  saint  in  the  earth.  The  convent  will  keep  his 
trentals,  but  will  feast,  not  fast ;  for  our  good  brother  is 
freed  from  the  burden  of  the  flesh :  his  labors  are  over, 
and  he  has  entered  into  his  joyful  rest.  I  alone  shall 
fast  and  do  penance ;  for,  to  my  shame  I  say  it,  I  was 
unjust  to  him,  and  knew  not  his  worth  till  it  was  too 
late.  And  you,  young  monks,  be  not  curious  to  inquire 
whether  a  lock  he  bore  on  his  bosom  was  a  token  of  pure 
affection,  or  the  relic  of  a  saint;  but  remember  the 
heart  he  wore  beneath.  Most  of  all,  fix  your  eyes  upon 
his  life  and  conversation,  and  follow  them  an  ye  may, 
for  he  was  a  holy  man." 

Thus  after  life's  fitful  fever  these  true  lovers  were  at 
peace.  The  grave,  kinder  to  them  than  the  Church, 
united  them  forever ;  and  now  a  man  of  another  age 
and  nation,  touched  with  their  fate,  has  labored  to  build 
their  tombstone,  and  rescue  them  from  long  and  un- 
merited oblivion. 

He  asks  for  them  your  sympathy,  but  not  your  pity. 

No,  put  this  story  to  a  wholesome  use. 

Fiction  must  often  give  false  views  of  life  and  death. 
Here  as  it  happens,  curbed  by  history,  she  gives  you 
true  ones.  Let  the  barrier  that  kept  these  true  lovers 
apart  prepare  you  for  this,  that  here  on  earth  there  will 
nearly  always  be  some  obstacle  or  other  to  your  perfect 
happiness ;  to  their  early  death  apply  your  reason  and 
your  faith,  by  way  of  exercise  and  preparation.  For,  if 
you  cannot  bear  to  be  told  that  these  died  young,  who, 
had  they  lived  a  hundred  years,  would  still  be  dead,  how 
shall  you  bear  to  see  the  gentle,  the  loving,  and  the  true, 
glide  from  your  own  bosom  to  the  grave,  and  fly  from 
your  house  to  heaven  ? 


THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


489 


Yet  this  is  in  store  for  you.  In  every  age  the  Master 
of  life  and  death,  who  is  kinder  as  well  as  wiser  than  we 
are,  has  transplanted  to  heaven  young,  earth's  sweetest 
flowers. 

I  ask  your  sympathy,  then,  for  their  rare  constancy, 
and  pure  affection,  and  their  cruel  separation  by  a  vile 
heresy  1  in  the  bosom  of  the  Church,  but  not  your  pity 
for  their  early  but  happy  end. 

Beati  sunt  qui  in  Domino  moriuntur. 

1  Celibacy  of  the  Clergy,  an  invention  truly  fiendish. 


490  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


CHAPTER  LI. 

In  compliance  with  a  custom  I  despise,  but  have  not 
the  spirit  to  resist,  I  linger  on  the  stage  to  pick  up  the 
smaller  fragments  of  humanity  I  have  scattered  about : 
i.e.,  some  of  them,  for  the  wayside  characters  have  no 
claim  on  me :  they  have  served  their  turn  if  they  have 
persuaded  the  reader  that  Gerard  travelled  from  Holland 
to  Rome  through  human  beings,  and  not  through  a  popu- 
lation of  dolls. 

Eli  and  Catherine  lived  to  a  great  age  :  lived  so  long 
that  both  Gerard  and  Margaret  grew  to  be  dim  memo- 
ries. Giles  also  was  longevous ;  he  went  to  the  court  of 
Bavaria,  and  was  alive  there  at  ninety,  but  had  somehow 
turned  into  bones  and  leather,  trumpet  toned. 

Cornells,  free  from  all  rivals,  and  forgiven  long  ago 
by  his  mother,  who  clung  to  him  more  and  more  now  all 
her  brood  was  scattered,  waited,  and  waited,  and  waited, 
for  his  parents'  decease.  But  Catherine's  shrewd  word 
came  true  :  ere  she  and  her  mate  wore  out,  this  worthy 
rusted  away.  At  sixty-five  he  lay  dying  of  old  age  in 
his  mother's  arms,  a  hale  woman  of  eighty-six.  He  had 
lain  unconscious  awhile,  but  came  to  himself  in  articulo 
mortis,  and  seeing  her  near  him,  told  her  how  he  would 
transform  the  shop  and  premises  as  soon  as  they  should 
be  his.  "  Yes,  my  darling,"  said  the  poor  old  woman 
soothingly  ;  and  in  another  minute  he  was  clay  ;  and  that 
clay  was  followed  to  the  grave  by  all  the  feet  whose 
shoes  he  had  waited  for. 

Denys,  broken-hearted  at  his  comrade's  death,  was  glad 
to  return  to  Burgundy,  and  there  a  small  pension  the 


THE  CLOISTER  AKD  THE  HEARTH.  491 


court  allowed  him  kept  him  until  unexpectedly  he  in- 
herited a  considerable  sum  from  a  relation.  He  was 
known  in  his  native  place  for  many  years  as  a  crusty  old 
soldier,  who  could  tell  good  stories  of  war,  when  he 
chose,  and  a  bitter  railer  against  women. 

Jerome,  disgusted  with  modern  laxity,  retired  to  Italy, 
and,  having  high  connections,  became  at  seventy  a  mitred 
abbot.  He  put  on  the  screw  of  discipline  :  his  monks 
revered  and  hated  him.  He  ruled  with  iron  rod  ten 
years.  And  one  night  he  died  alone,  for  he  had  not 
found  the  way  to  a  single  heart.  The  Vulgate  was  on 
his  pillow,  and  the  crucifix  in  his  hand,  and  on  his  lips 
something  more  like  a  smile  than  was  ever  seen  there 
while  he  lived ;  so  that,  methinks,  at  that  awful  hour  he 
was  not  quite  alone.  Requiescat  in  pace.  The  Master 
he  served  has  many  servants,  and  they  have  many  minds, 
and  now  and  then  a  faithful  one  will  be .  a  surly  one,  as 
it  is  in  these  our  mortal  mansions. 

The  yellow-haired  laddie,  Gerard  Gerardson,  belongs 
not  to  Fiction  but  to  History.  She  has  recorded  his  birth 
in  other  terms  than  mine.  Over  the  tailor's  house  in  the 
Brede  Kirk  Straet  she  has  inscribed: 

Ecec  est  parva  domus  natus  qud  magnus  Erasmus ; 

and  she  has  written  half  a  dozen  lives  of  him.  But 
there  is  something  left  for  her  yet  to  do.  She  has  no 
more  comprehended  magnum  Erasmum,  than  any  other 
pygmy  comprehends  a  giant,  or  partisan  a  judge. 

First  scholar  and  divine  of  his  epoch,  he  was  also  the 
heaven-born  dramatist  of  his  century.  Some  of  the  best 
scenes  in  this  new  book  are  from  his  mediaeval  pen,  and 
illumine  the  pages  where  they  come ;  for  the  words  of 
a  genius  so  high  as  his  are  not  born  to  die  :  their  imme- 
diate work  upon  mankind  fulfilled,  they  may  seem  to  lie 


492  THE  CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH. 


torpid,  but,  at  each  fresh  shower  of  intelligence  Time 
pours  upon  their  students,  they  prove  their  immortal 
race ;  they  revive,  they  spring  from  the  dust  of  great 
libraries ;  they  bud,  they  flower,  they  fruit,  they  seed- 
from  generation  to  generation,  and  from  age  to  age. 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF, 
AND  OTHER  STORIES. 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF. 


The  readers  of  "  It  is  Never  too  Late  to  Mend  "  may 
remember  that  in  Vol.  II.  the  chaplain  set  the  thief  to 
write  his  life  honestly.  He  was  not  to  whitewash  and 
then  gild  himself,  nor  yet  to  vent  one  long  self-deceiving 
howl  of  general  and  therefore  sham  penitence,  but  he  was 
to  be,  with  God's  help,  his  own  historian  and  sober  critic. 
Accordingly  Thomas  Eobinson  wrote  this  autobiography 

in          Jail :  and  my  readers  may  have  noticed  that  at 

first  I  intended  to  print  it  with  the  novel. 

It  cost  me  a  struggle  to  resign  this  intention ;  for  it 
was  the  central  gem  of  my  little  coronet.  But  the  novel, 
without  the  autobiography,  was  five  ordinary  volumes  by 
printers'  calculation,  and  a  story  within  a  story  is  a  fright- 
ful flaw  in  art. 

Moreover,  I  was  attacking  settled,  long-standing  prej- 
udices. Prejudice  is  a  giant,  against  whom  truth  and 
humanity  need  to  be  defended  with  great  spirit,  and,  in 
some  desperate  cases,  with  a  tiger-like  ferocity :  "  A  dur 
due  dur  aiguillon : "  but  there  must  be  some  judgment 
too ;  and,  take  my  word  for  it,  there  always  has  been 
some  judgment  used,  wherever  so  hard  a  battle  is  won. 
I  feared  then  to  multiply  paradoxes,  and  to  draw  once 
too  often  on  the  faith  of  the  public,  as  well  as  on  its 
good  heart,  I,  who  carried  no  personal  weight  with  me- 


4 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF. 


But  I  think  my  readers  are  now  ripe  for  this  strange 
but  true  story,  and  I  dedicate  it  in  particular  to  such  as 
will  deign  to  accept  this  clew  to  my  method  in  writing :  — 

I  feign  probabilities ;  I  record  improbabilities  :  the 
former  are  conjectures,  the  latter  truths  :  mixed,  they 
make  a  thing  not  so  true  as  gospel  nor  so  false  as 
history ;  viz.,  fiction. 

When  I  startle  you  most,  think  twice  before  you 
disbelieve  me.  What  able  deceiver  aims  at  shocking 
credulity  ?  Distrust  rather  my  oily  probabilities.  They 
should  be  true  too  if  I  could  make  them ;  but  I  can't : 
they  are  guesses. 

You  have  seen  Thomas  Bobinson,  alias  Hie,  alias  Ille, 
alias  Tste,  tinted  in  water-colors  by  me :  now  see  him 
painted  in  oils  by  himself,  and  retouched  by  Mr.  Eden. 

A  thief  is  a  man :  and  a  man's  life  is  like  those 
geographical  fragments  children  learn  "the  contagious 
countries  "  by.  The  pieces  are  a  puzzle  :  but  put  them 
together  carefully,  and  lo !  they  are  a  map. 

The  thief  then  mapped  his  puzzle;  and  I  think  his 
work  will  stand. 

These  caged  autobiographers  have  a  great  advantage 
as  writers  over  other  autobiographers  that  sing  false 
notes  of  egotism  in  London  squares,  and  American  villas 
built  cere  alieno. 

Carceravis  has  been  publicly  convicted.  Mavis  and 
Philomele  have  not  met  with  so  much  justice.  They 
could  eclipse  the  novelist  and  the  historian;  but  they 
don't  even  rival  them.  An  alternative  lies  before  them : 
to  chronicle  themselves  and  their  acts,  and  so  add  great 
instructive  pictures  of  man  to  the  immortal  part  of 
literature,  or  to  idealize,  as  our  pedants  call  it,  to  slur, 
falsify,  color  themselves  up  here  and  tone  themselves 
down  there.  Unfortunately  for  letters  they  invariably 
choose  the  liedeal :  and  instead  of  coming  out  bright  as 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF. 


5 


stars,  the  interesting,  curious,  instructive,  valuable 
rogues,  humbugs,  and  courtesans  they  are,  and  so  being 
the  darlings  of  posterity,  they  go  mincing  to  trunkerity, 
tame,  negative,  insipid,  characterless  creatures,  not  good 
enough  for  example,  not  bad  enough  for  a  warning,  but 
excellent  lining  for  a  band-box. 

No.  It  is  to  the  detected  part  of  the  community  we 
must  look  for  an  honest  autobiography.  Not  that  self- 
deception  ever  retires  wholly  from  a  human  heart,  but 
that  in  these  there  is  no  good  opinion  of  the  world  to 
back  their  self-deception.  It  is  not  so  with  many  an 
unconvicted  rogue,  who  is  far  below  an  average  felon : 
the  banker  who  steals  not  from  strangers  but  friends ; 
steals  from  those  who  have  a  claim  to  his  gratitude  as 
well  as  his  honesty :  the  rector  who  preaches  Christ, 
and  swindles  the  young  curate  out  of  every  halfpenny 
contrary  to  law,  because  the  poor  boy  must  get  a  title 
though  he  buy  it  and  begin  life  with  debt :  how  will  he 
end  it  ?  The  anonymous  assassin,  the  cowardly  caitiff 
of  a  scribbler  who,  with  no  temptation  but  mere  envy, 
stabs  the  great  in  the  dark  and  truckles  to  them  face  to 
face.  A  felon  is  a  man,  and  often  a  resolute  one ;  but 
what  is  this  thing  that  stabs  and  runs  away  into  a  hole  ? 

The  shopkeeping  assassin  who  puts  red-lead  (a  deadly 
poison)  into  red  pepper,  and  sells  death  to  those  by 
whom  he  lives. 

The  shopkeeping  assassin  who  puts  copper,  a  deadly 
and  cumulative  poison,  into  pickles  and  preserves ;  and 
poisons  those  by  whom  he  lives.  The  English  assassin 
who  poisons  the  young  children  wholesale  in  their  sugar- 
plums, and  then  reads  with  virtuous  indignation  of  the 
sepoys  who  bayoneted  them  in  their  rage  instead  of  kill- 
ing them  cannily. 

The  miller,  abandoned  of  God,  and  awaiting  here  on 
earth  his  eternal  damnation,  who,  king  of  all  these 
15 


6 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF. 


Borgias,  thief  and  murderer  at  once,  poisons  young  and 
old  at  life's  fountain,  breaks  life's  very  staff,  mixes 
plaster  of  Paris  with  the  flour  that  is  the  food  of  all 
men,  the  only  food,  alas;  of  more  than  half  the  world. 

These  and  a  score  more  respectables  are  the  hope- 
less cases.  A  cracksman  or  a  swell  mobsman  is  terribly 
hard  to  cure.  But  these  are  incurable.  The  world's 
good  opinion  fortifies  their  delusion.  They  open  their 
eyes  for  the  first  time  in  hell.  A  pickpocket  now  and 
then  opens  them  in  jail. 

We  owe  to  Jail  this  slippery  one  who  paints 

himself  a  slipperyish  one,  and  does  not  falsify  as  well 
as  filch. 

It  is  important  to  observe  that  this  is  the  man's  his- 
tory not  after  the  events  recorded  in  the  novel,  but 
before.  His  foundation,  not  his  roof.  On  this  autobi- 
ographer  the  benign  influences  of  religion,  the  solidify- 
ing effect  of  property,  and  the  guardianship  of  a  shrewd 
but  honest  wife,  have  since  been  bestowed  by  Heaven. 

Add  then  this  autobiography  to  his  character  as  drawn 
by  me  in  the  novel,  and  you  possess  the  whole  portrait : 
and  now  it  will  be  for  you  to  judge  whether  for  once 
we  have  taken  a  character  that  exists  on  a  large  scale 
in  nature,  and  added  it  to  fiction,  or,  here  too,  have 
printed  a  shadow,  and  called  it  a  man. 

AUTOBIOGBAPHY. 

I  did  nothing  that  I  particularly  remember  until  I 
was  fifteen,  except  learn  my  lessons,  with  now  and  then 
a  fight.  I  lived  with  my  mother  in  Edinburgh.  One 
day  a  person  of  gentlemanly  appearance  met  a  band  of 
us  as  we  were  going  to  school,  and  inquired  for  me  by 
name.  He  took  me  aside  into  a  tavern,  and,  after  treat- 
ing me,  revealed  himself  to  me  as  my  father.    He  also 


REVEALED  HIMSELF  TO  ME  AS  MY  FATHER. 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF. 


7 


gave  me  a  crown,  and  promised  to  see  me  again:  but 
was  unfortunately  prevented,  or  perhaps  forgot. 

My  education  being  now  considered  complete,  I  went 
to  receive  lessons  in  anatomy,  at  which  I  remained  for 
the  space  of  nine  months. 

I  now  formed  an  acquaintance  with  a  young  lady. 
(At  this  time  I  was  staying  with  my  godfather  upon  my 
mother's  decease.)  But  she  was  unfortunately  a  Eoman- 
ist,  and  on  this  account  my  godfather  ordered  me  to 
leave  off  her  acquaintance,  which  I  refusing,  he  ordered 
me  out  of  the  house.  I  complied  with  this  harsh  man- 
date, but  first  collected  «  all  the  money  I  could  find, 
which  amounted  to  about  fifty  pounds  —  and  with  this 
I  went  to  Dunfermline,  and  from  there  to  the  Bumbling 
Brigg,  where  I  lodged  with  a  couple  well  to  do :  I  paid 
my  board  while  my  money  lasted  —  but  being  now 
empty,  and  my  host  finding  I  was  a  scholar,  I  agreed  to 
give  him  three  lessons  a  day  upon  the  sly,  for  which  he 
privately  contracted  to  give  me  secretly  the  money  to 
pay  his  wife  my  board. 

This  lasted  three  months  ;  but  one  evening  as  we  were 
at  our  studies,  and  having  neglected  to  lock  the  door, 
being  become  too  bold  by  past  impunity,  the  wife,  who 
had  discovered  our  retreat,  having  listened  a  moment  or 
two,  burst  suddenly  in  upon  us,  and  falling  &  on  her 
knees,  exclaimed, — 

"  Good  heavens  !  am  I  married  to  a  man  who  does  not 
know  that  three  times  five  make  fifteen  ?  "  and  burst 
into  a  flood  of  tears  and  reproaches. 

This  was  the  line  of  the  table  he  was  unfortunately 
repeating  to  me  at  the  time. 

His  wife's  conduct  raising  a  counter-excitement  in 
my  pupil,  and  finding  I  had  lighted  a  flame  which  would 
not  easily  be  extinguished,  I  thought  proper  to  retire 
and  go  back  to  Dunfermline.  Here  I  learned  my  first 
trade  of  the  many  I  have  practised. 


8  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF. 

I  engaged  myself  to  a  master  weaver  and  petty  manu- 
facturer. Besides  learning  to  take  drafts  of  patterns, 
etc.,  I  used  to  cast  his  accounts ;  but  one  day  he  sent  me 
to  the  bank  to  draw  some  money ;  on  this  I  absconded 
with  the  money  and  went  to  Edinburgh. 

He  pursued  me  so  closely,  that  with  the  aid  of  the 
police  he  apprehended  me  before  I  had  time  to  spend 
it ;  to  avoid  punishment  I  gave  him  back  the  money,  all 
but  seventeen  shillings,  and  he,  who  was  a  good-natured 
man,  wished  me  to  go  back  to  my  place ;  but  having 
borne  a  good  name  in  the  place  until  then,  I  thought 
shame  to  go  back;  so  I  went  to  Newcastle,  after  bor- 
rowing of  my  c  late  master  fifteen  shillings  for  the 
journey. 

At  Newcastle  I  went  into  a  chemist's  shop  for  some 
cough-lozenges  :  now  it  happened  that  a  woman  in  the 
shop  asked  for  some  medicine.  I  forget  just  now  what 
it  was,  but  the  shop-boy  took  down  the  wrong ;  he  took 
down  a  bottle  containing  camomile,  I  remember  that  — 
so  I  told  the  boy  that  he  mistook  the  Latin  term ;  thiy 
naturally  attracted  the  master's  attention,  and  he  looked 
up  and  saw  I  was  correct ;  so  then  he  asked  me  several 
questions,  and  finding  me  fit  for  his  purpose,  he  took  me 
into  his  service  —  and  here  for  a  long  while  all  my  sor- 
rows were  at  an  end :  for  I  took  a  delight  in  studying 
my  master's  interests  and  laying  up  knowledge. 

He  favored  me  with  his  instructions,  and  I  enjoyed 
at  times  the  company  of  his  daughter,  which  was  to  me 
a  comfort  above  all,  and  with  whom  I  felt  myself  soon 
deep  in  love,  and  with  her  I  spent  many  a  happy  hour 
after  the  business  of  the  day  was  over,  walking  out  in 
the  evenings,  while  the  moon  with  her  bright  and  gentle 
rays  gave  to  all  things  a  delightful  appearance,  and 
seemed  to  lift  up  our  minds  to  something  above  the  grov- 
elling cares  of  Time  — or  we  heard  the  plaintive  notes  of 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF.  9 


the  nightingale  breaking  the  silence  of  the  night,  and 
calling  us  to  join  him  in  his  songs  of  praise  to  the  God 
^of  Nature.  But  sweeter  still  than  the  voice  of  the 
nightingale  was  the  voice  of  my  companion,  which  was 
sweetest  of  all  when  its  topic  d  would  run  to  that 
portion  which  forms  the  golden  part  of  Cupid's  dart. 

In  these  innocent  joys  I  spent  four  years. 

But  one  unfortunate  evening,  having  a  drop  too  much 
at  the  time,  I  met  Miss  B.  as  usual,  and  opportunity  and 
temptation  unfortunately  occurring,  I  was  guilty  of  a 
felony  that  has  always  remained  on  my  conscience  more 
than  any  of  those  acts  I  have  been  guilty  of,  which  the 
law  describes  to  be  the  highest  crimes. 

From  that  night  our  walks  beneath  the  moon  by  the 
river-side  were  no  longer  innocent,  and  we  were  no 
longer  happy. 

0  e  cursed  night  and  place  that  robbed  a  virgin  of 
her  purity  !  and  0  cursed  Tyne,  why  did  not  thou  over- 
flow thy  banks  and  drive  me  away  ?  — if  now  thy  fount- 
ain-spring was  to  pour  out  streams  of  flaming  lava,  it 
would  not  purge  the  disgrace  out  of  thy  dark  banks  — 
nay,  if  thy  banks  themselves  were  to  become  gold,  they 
would  not  ransom  the  character  lost  on  that  night  nor 
restore  the  rest  and  quiet  that  now  fled  from  my  pillow. 

Four  months  had  scarce  elapsed  before  I  learned  that 
consequences  of  a  serious  kind  were  to  be  expected. 

1  was  in  great  perplexity :  at  last,  taking  a  desperate 
course,  I  with  much  hesitation  asked  my  master  for  his 
daughter's  hand. 

My  master,  who,  though  a  good-natured  was  a  hasty 
man,  turned  black  and  red  at  the  idea,  but  recovering 
himself  soon  he  turned  it  off  as  a  jest.  I  saw  by  this 
that  he  would  never  consent,  and,  dreading  discovery,  I 
got  a  friend  of  mine  to  write  to  me/  from  Edinburgh 
that  my  sister  lay  at  the  point  of  death  and  begged  to 
see  me. 


10  THE  AUTOBIOGEAPHY  OF  A  THTEF. 


Showing  this  letter  to  my  master,  I  got  leave  of 
absence  and  a  present  for  the  journey,  with  which  I 
started,  promising  to  return  in  a  week,  but  with  no  such 
intention. 

I  arrived  at  Edinburgh,  and  found  my  sister,  whom  I 
had  spoken  of  as  dying,  just  on  the  eve  of  marriage. 
I  was  at  the  wedding,  but  the  nuptial  feast  was  no  feast 
to  me,  for  it  only  recalled  the  thoughts  of  my  own  guilt. 

I  now  began  the  world  again. 

I  went  to  Stirling  and  obtained  a  situation  with  a 
baker ;  but  the  work  was  much  too  hard  for  me,  so  I  left 
him  in  two  days,  and  took  «  with  me  three  pounds  ten 
shillings ;  was  apprehended  in  Glasgow,  and  got  sixty 
days. 

On  receiving  my  liberty  I  enlisted  in  Her  Majesty's 
service  and  was  marched  on  board  the  Pique  frigate 
bound  for  the  West  Indies. 

Here  I  remained  until  we  got  to  Plymouth,  where  I 
made  my  escape,  but  was  retaken  in  the  town  and  brought 
back  to  the  ship  and  put  in  irons  on  the  spar-deck  under 
cover  of  a  tarpaulin  —  this  was  my  prison  till  we 
reached  St.  Vincent :  we  anchored  here  for  two  days,  and 
in  the  confusion  of  getting  under  weigh  again  I  watched 
my  opportunity,  and  having  broken  my  padlock  the  day 
before,  I  stole  into  the  captain's  cabin,  he  being  on  deck, 
and  took  away  a  suit  of  his  clothes,  and  dropped  into  the 
water ;  and  the  weather  being  calm,  and  I  being  an  ex- 
cellent swimmer,  I  swam  alongside  a  brigantine  that  lay 
at  anchor  in  the  bay,  and  hailing  her  from  the  surface 
of  the  water,  sang  out,  "  Hallo !  are  you  short  of  hands  ?  " 

"  We  are,"  was  the  reply,  "  where  do  you  hail  from  ?  " 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  it?"  said  I.  So  they 
hauled  me  on  board. 

The  master,  finding  I  had  been  educated,  sent  me  on 
shore  to  his  brother  who  kept  a  store ;  and  so  now  I  was 
his  shopman. 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF.  11 

I  lived  with  my  new  master :  we  used  to  come  to  the 
shop  in  the  morning  and  go  home  at  night.  We  lived  a 
mile  and  a  half  out  of  the  town  in  a  pretty  Gothic 
house,  which  stood  in  the  middle  of  a  delightful  garden 
bordered  by  sugar-canes ;  in  front  of  the  house  was 
an  avenue  of  orange  and  lemon  trees  mixed ;  their 
branches  bent  with  the  exuberance  of  the  fruit ;  and  the 
ground  glittered  with  great  shaddocks  and  limes,  that 
lay  like  lumps  of  gold,  unheeded  and  rotting  for  abun- 
dance. The  air  too  was  filled  with  the  scent  of  thou- 
sands of  rich  flowers  that  were  scattered  about,  some  by 
nature,  some  by  the  hand  of  man  —  in  short,  it  was  an 
earthly  paradise,  in  which  I  might  have  ended  my  days 
if  the  demon  of  change  had  not  filled  my  mind  with  the 
desire  to  behold  once  more  my  native  country  —  stupid 
fool. 

I  set  sail,  and  after  a  stormy  passage  reached  the 
port  of  London. 

I  lodged  in  the  Commercial  Eoad  till  my  money  was 
nearly  gone,  and  then  I  became  disconsolate. 

Wandering  one  day  in  the  Eatcliffe  highway  it  was 
my  luck  to  fall  in  with  an  old  acquaintance,  whom  I  had 
known  through  being  in  trouble  together ;  he  introduced 
me  to  a  lodging-house  keeper  in  the  neighborhood,  who, 
after  a  few  words  with  my  companion,  told  me  "  it  was 
all  right,  we  should  find  means  of  settling." 

I  went  to  bed,  and  when  I  wanted  to  get  up,  my  clothes 
were  stolen,  with  the  few  shillings  I  had  left.  Kemon- 
strating  with  the  landlord,  he  said,  "  Oh,  it  is  a  mistake," 
and  disappearing  for  a  few  minutes,  during  which  I 
heard  high  words  and  a  bit  of  a  tussle,  he  returned  with 
my  clothes  and  money. 

The  next  day,  seeing  me  very  dull,  and  concluding  by 
that  I  was  ripe  for  business,  he  inquired  the  cause  of 
my  uneasiness. 


12  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF. 


I  told  him  my  last  shilling  was  melting. 

He  laughed  at  this  cause  of  trouble. 

"  You  don't  know,"  said  he,  "  you  are  in  the  mint." 

"  In  the  mint  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Yes/'  was  his  reply ;  "  in  the  mint,  my  boy  ; "  and 
with  that  he  took  up  a  chisel  and  went  to  the  chimney 
and  carefully  removed  a  loose  brick,  and  took  out  of  the 
gap  a  tin  box :  he  opened  the  box,  and  coins  of  every 
sort  in  profusion  flashed  upon  my  bewildered  eyes  —  and 
not  only  coins,  but  dies  and  metal  of  all  sorts  for  making 
them. 

"  Now,"  said  Croesus,  "  having  gone  so  far  you  must 
take  the  oath  at  once." 

Four  men  and  four  females  were  then  summoned,  and 
standing  in  the  middle  of  them,  I  took  a  solemn  oath  to 
this  effect :  — 

"  I  hereby  swear  never  to  tell  any  one  how  to  make  4  shoffle,1 
nor  where  I  learned  it,  nor  yet  to  use  any  kind  of  language 
that  may  lead  to  the  same,  upon  pain  of  death." 

Here  followed  imprecations  upon  my  eyes  and  limbs,  if 
broken,  such  as  are  used  among  Freemasons,  etc.,  but  not 
being  fit  for  your  reverence's  ears,  I  suppress  that  part. 

The  next  process  was  to  go  and  change  a  base  sover- 
eign, which  I  did  accordingly,  returning  with  nineteen 
and  sixpence,  and  of  which  sixpence  went  for  the  gin. 

Behold  me  now  a  shoffie-pitcher.  But  it  was  never  my 
way  to  remain  at  the  bottom  of  any  business  that  I  found 
worth  studying.  I  therefore  in  the  course  of  six  months 
learned  to  coin  first  a  shilling,  then  a  sovereign,  then  the 
most  difficult  of  all,  a  crown ;  and  last  of  all  to  make  the 
moulds  for  each  of  these  coins ;  and  as  soon  as  I  found  I 
could  make  a  mould  for  a  crown,  I  dissolved  partnership, 
and  went  to  Gravesend  on  my  own  bottom. 

Your  reverence  will  blame  me  less  for  this  revolt  if  I 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF.  13 


tell  you  the  terms  on  which  we  worked  with  him  whom 
I  have  called  Croesus,  and  his  name  did  begin  with  a  C. 

He  had  the  half  of  every  coin  we  uttered  —  he  had  the 
cost  of  the  metal  besides,  and  the  half  of  every  article 
purchased  in  the  process  of  uttering. 

Now  this  was  not  fair :  at  least  I  think  not,  because 
he  did  not  share  the  risk. 

I  pitched  on  my  own  account  about  a  month ;  then 
finding  the  trade  stale,  and  having  once  or  twice  nar- 
rowly missed  being  apprehended,  I  returned  to  London 
and  betook  myself  to  the  diligent  study  of  housebreak- 
ing. I  learned  from  a  master  how  to  make  false  keys  — 
and  having  money  by  me,  and  courting  the  company  of 
the  best  cracksmen,  and  listening  to  all  they  said  with 
respect  and  attention,  I  attracted  notice,  and  was  made 
a  member  of  the  body,  and  soon  after  permitted  to  take 
part  in  a  job.  It  was  a  doctor's  shop  in  the  Commercial 
Eoad,  and  my  share  came  to  fifty  pounds.  And  this  was 
only  the  first  of  many  transactions  of  the  kind. 

And  as  it  becomes  every  one  that  is  in  a  business  to 
master  it  if  possible,  I  will  tell  your  reverence  how  I 
attended  to  mine,  trusting  you  will  not  make  it  generally 
public,  as  it  is  not  considered  honorable  among  us  to 
reveal  the  secrets  of  business,  but  only  on  account  of 
your  goodness  I  am  willing  to  put  you  on  your  guard,  and 
also  your  own  friends  —  that  is  to  say,  such  of  them  as 
have  got  anything  to  lose  :  but  hope  it  will  go  no  farther 
than  the  jail. 

Now  as  the  chief  work  of  practitioners  in  our  line  is 
to  find  out  where  the  money  or  valuables  are  kept,  this 
was  my  plan :  — 

If  it  was  a  shop,  I  would  go  in  and  buy  something, 
give  the  shopman  a  sovereign,  and  notice  where  he  put 
it,  and  from  whence  he  took  the  change,  and  at  the  same 
time  how  the  door  was  fastened,  whether  with  a  lock  01 


14 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF. 


bar,  or  while  my  pal  (for  we  always  went  in  pairs)  was 
engaging  the  shopman,  I  would  take  the  dimensions  of 
the  same. 

Or,  if  it  was  a  dwelling-house,  I  would  go  and  present 
the  mistress  with  a  card  stating  I  was  a  china  or  glass 
mender,  a  French-polisher,  a  teacher  of  music  or  dancing ; 
and  try  every  move  to  get  admittance  into  the  parlor,  and 
then  you  may  be  sure  my  eyes  were  not  shut. 

Or  else  I  would  go  and  offer  the  servant  some  article 
for  sale  as  a  hawker,  and  would  chaff  and  flatter  her,  and 
so  perhaps  get  a  notion  where  the  plate  was  kept,  and 
the  next  week  come  and  fetch  it  away. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  weeks  I  had  collected  some- 
where about  one  hundred  pounds  in  money  and  valuables, 
and  finding  the  police  had  scent  of  me,  I  left  London  and 
went  down  by  the  Leith  smack  to  Edinburgh. 

Here  I  visited  my  friends,  and  passed  myself  off  in 
their  society  for  a  thriving  tradesman. 

I  also  sent  some  money  to  Miss  B.,  —  not  that  money 
could  repay  the  injury  I  had  done  her,  but  still  it  would 
make  her  friends  more  civil  to  see  that  she  wanted  for 
nothing. 

If  my  real  character  had  not  got  wind  in  Newcastle, 
I  think  at  this  time  they  would  have  let  me  marry 
her,  and  I  think,  bad  as  I  am,  I  should  have  mended 
for  her  sake,  for  she  was  the  only  woman  I  ever  really 
loved  Ar. 

It  is  an  old  saying  that  "  The  money  which  comes  by 
the  wind  goes  by  the  water." 

I  have  made  thousands,  but  never  could  keep  as  much 
as  a  five-pound  note. 

In  about  a  month  nearly  all  my  money  was  melted,  and 
I  set  out  on  a  cruise  again. 

Falling  into  some  of  my  old  haunts  in  Yorkshire,  I 
met  with  a  friend  who  manufactured  base  coin,  and, 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF.  15 

having  passed  a  quantity  of  this  and  being  now  at  my 
ease,  I  determined  to  study  a  new  profession. 

I  therefore  secluded  myself  from  all  my  idle  compan- 
ions, took  a  quiet  lodging,  bought  several  medical  books, 
and  studied  the  human  frame  and  the  disorders  to  which 
it  is  subject. 

I  studied  night  and  day  with  the  same  diligence  I 
had  given  to  coining,  housebreaking,  and  my  other  pro- 
fessions. 

In  about  a  month  I  considered  myself  fit  to  start, 
which  I  accordingly  did  with  as  much  pomp  as  I  could 
command,  having  seen  how  far  that  goes  towards  success 
in  the  learned  professions. 

I  engaged  a  servant  with  a  handsome  livery  to  deliver 
my  bills  at  the  most  respectable  doors,  and  attend  upon 
me  when  I  addressed  the  public. 

I  had  a  thousand  bills  printed,  representing  myself 
as  Dr.  Scott  from  Edinburgh,  and  I  furnished  myself 
with  testimonials  from  respectable  parties  ;  I  mean,  that 
would  have  been,  but  who,  in  point  of  fact,  had  no 
existence :  and  printed  them  at  the  foot  of  my  bills. 

My  plan  was,  on  entering  a  town,  first  to  go  for  the 
more  respectable  customers  by  putting  up  at  a  good  inn, 
making  friends  with  the  landlord,  and  sending  my  foot- 
man round  with  my  bills  —  but  before  leaving  I  used  to 
appear  in  my  true  colors,  as  an  itinerant  quack. 

In  this  capacity  I  used  to  harangue  the  people  and 
sell  my  drugs. 

In  my  public  discourses  I  always  ran  down  the  regu- 
lar practitioner,  as  we  are  all  obliged  to  do,  and  the 
plan  I  used  to  follow  was  cool  irony  —  I  found  this  went 
farther  than  pretending  to  get  into  a  heat. 

Unlike  most  quacks,  I  did  not  apply  one  or  two 
remedies  to  every  disorder,  and  I  met  with  wonderful 
success,  especially  with  the  women  j  partly,  I  think, 


16 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF. 


because  with  them  imagination  goes  far,  and  my  patter 
inspired  them  with  more  confidence  than  the  regular 
doctors  could,  not  having  the  gift  of  the  gab. 

While  travelling  as  a  doctor,  I  never  would  accept 
money  from  any  of  my  patients  until  the  disease,  what- 
ever it  might  be,  took  "a  turn  for  the  better;  and  even 
then,  my  charges  were  always  low  ;  but  to  make  up  I 
did  pass  a  deal  of  base  coin  wherever  I  travelled. 

The  following  were  some  of  my  most  remarkable 
cures : — 

The  landlady  of  a  public-house  at  York,  of  a  dysen- 
tery. 

At  Wakefield  I  reduced  an  imposthume,  which  the 
proprietor  was  going  to  have  cut,  if  it  had  not  been  for 
me. 

At  Hull  I  actually  cured  a  respectable  woman  of  a 
cataract,  and  was  praised  in  the  public  journals. 

These  and  a  hundred  ordinary  cures  are  the  benefits 
I  rendered  the  public  in  return  for  the  many  wrongs  I 
have  done  it. 

I  had  been  practising  pharmacy  some  three  months, 
when  one  day  I  received  a  letter  from  Newcastle. 

It  was  from  Miss  B.'s  uncle,  telling  me  I  might  visit 
her  now. 

The  letter  was  very  short,  and  there  was  something 
about  it  I  did  not  understand ;  so  that,  instead  of  filling 
me  with  delight  as  such  a  letter  would  a  while  ago,  I 
set  out  for  Newcastle  flush  of  cash  but  full  of  per- 
plexity. 

I  reached  Newcastle,  and  lest  her  friends  should  have 
changed  their  mind  again,  and  receive  me  with  an 
affront,  I  went  to  an  ale-house  convenient  to  her  resi- 
dence, and  sent  for  her  younger  brother,  who  had  never 
been  so  much  against  me  as  the  others. 

He  came  directly,  and  I  began  to  put  a  dozen  ques- 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF.  17 


tions  to  him :  but  he  maintained  silence ;  he  hung  his 
head  and  said,  "  Don't  ask  me  —  you  will  soon  know  — 
and  since  you  are  here,  come  without  loss  of  time,"  and 
he  led  the  way  in  gloomy  silence. 

I  was  taken  into  the  house,  and  after  some  little  delay 
was  allowed  to  go  up  into  her  room  —  I  shall  never 
forget  it. 

Her  cheeks  that  used  to  be  like  two  roses,  were  now 
pale  and  ghastly,  and  her  beaming  eyes  were  dull  and 
sunk  in  her  head ;  only  her  voice  and  her  smile  were  as 
sweet  as  ever. 

Her  first  word  was,  "  I  have  only  waited  for  this  " — 
then  she  stretched  out  her  hand  and  thanked  me  in  a 
sweet  and  composed  tone  of  voice,  "  for  coming  to  per- 
form the  last  part  of  a  husband's  duty  "  —  but  here  her 
feelings  overcame  her,  and  the  poor  thing  burst  into  a 
flood  of  tears,  and  I  fell  on  my  knees  and  sobbed  and 
cried  with  her,  and  her  relations  somehow  felt  that  they 
were  not  to  come  between  us  any  more  now,  and  they 
looked  at  one  another  and  left  the  room  without  any 
noise,  and  we  were  alone  a  little  while. 

And  then  I  kneeled  down  again,  and  prayed  her  to 
forgive  the  injury  I  had  done  her  person  and  character 

—  and  then  she  answered,  like  a  woman,  that  she  was 
to  blame,  and  not  I  —  and  this  answer  from  her,  and  she 
dying,  went  through  me  like  a  knife,  and  I  prayed  to 
die  for  her,  or  at  least  to  die  with  her ;  and  bursting  into 
unmanly  and  useless  grief,  and  grovelling  in  anguish 
and  remorse  upon  the  floor,  some  of  them  came  in  and 
interfered  for  her  sake,  and  very  properly  led  me  away 

—  and  not  in  an  unkind  manner,  for  which  may  God 
bless  them  any  way. 

I  hope  your  reverence  may  never  feel  as  I  did  —  I 
had  no  acute  sense  of  grief  or  pain  —  bodily  or  mental 
pain  would  have  been  a  relief  —  I  felt  dead  —  my  body 
seemed  dead,  my  heart  seemed  dead. 


18  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF. 


I  crawled  to  my  inn,  and  crawled  into  bed,  and  lay- 
sleepless  but  motionless  till  daybreak.  Then  I  rose  and 
went  down  to  the  river-side  and  walked  up  and  down  — 
and  at  about  nine,  when  I  thought  the  family  would  be 
up,  I  went  to  the  house. 

The  moment  I  came  in  sight  of  the  house,  I  saw  all 
the  shutters  were  up.  But  it  gave  me  scarcely  any 
shock,  for  I  was  stone,  and  I  seemed  to  know  before  this 
that  all  was  over. 

They  wished  me  to  see  her,  but  I  was  unable  then 
—  but  the  day  before  she  was  buried  I  took  a  last  look 
at  her  —  it  did  not  seem  to  be  her,  but  only  some  shell 
or  frame  she  had  once  inhabited  —  now  a  ruinous  heap 
of  corruption  :  and  that  is  an  awful  word. 

Is  it  a  castle,  —  there  was  a  time  when  the  heart  of 
the  bold  soldier  burned  with  ardor  to  defend  it. 

Is  it  a  senate,  —  there  was  a  time  when  the  loud 
applause  of  eloquence  thundered  from  its  roof. 

Or  is  it  a  temple,  —  there  was  a  time  when  the  white- 
stoled  priest  called  down  the  fire  from  heaven  to  bless 
the  sacrifice. 

But  here  is  a  temple,  one  not  made  with  hands,  the 
architecture  of  which  is  too  sublime  for  our  minds  to 
conceive,  a  temple  that  was  erected  to  be  the  seat  of  its 
Maker,  one  in  which  dwelt  not  only  the  image  but  the 
spirit  of  its  Creator :  let  me  ask  then  why  was  it  thus 
left  desolate,  and  whither  has  its  tenant  gone  ? 

Tell  me,  ye  seas,  whose  waves  roll  and  ripple  at  our 
feet  or  thunder  on  our  vessels,  tell  me  have  ye  seen  the 
airy  stranger  float  along  your  surface,  and  whither  has 
it  winged  its  way  ? 

Tell  me,  ye  winds,  harpers  of  the  mountain  forest ; 
methinks  ye  could ;  for  there  are  times  ye  whisper 
gently  and  seem  as  if  ye  were  holding  communion  with 
departed  spirits  ;  tell  me,  have  ye  seen  this  airy  stranger, 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF.  19 


and  whither  has  she  gone  ?  Tell  me,  ye  dazzling  worlds 
that  perform  your  regular  but  mystic  dance  upon  the 
airy  surface;  tell  me,  have  ye  seen  this  airy  stranger 
wing  her  way  through  your  aerial  canopy,  and  whither 
has  it  gone  ? 

Such  thoughts  as  these  followed  the  first  anguish  at 
losing  her,  and  to  all  these  inquiries  one  answer  seemed 
to  come  back  to  me  from  all  creation  — 

"  The  body  returns  to  the  dust,  and  the  soul  to  God 
who  gave  it." 

And  when  I  compared  this  answer  with  my  own  con- 
duct, I  felt  I  was  far  behind ;  and  over  my  poor  sweet- 
heart's grave  I  vowed  to  amend  my  life  —  that  one  day 
I  might  hope  to  meet  her  again.  The  first  three  days 
after  the  funeral  I  tried  in  every  direction  for  an  honest 
situation. 

The  fourth,  I  fell  from  all  my  good  resolutions. 

In  my  despair  I  had  recourse  to  drink,  and  was  undone. 
I  was  drunk  for  a  whole  week,  and  by  the  end  of  that 
time  was  penniless. 

Let  mankind  take  warning  by  my  fate,  and  not  fancy 
the  habit  of  drink  can  be  formed  with  safety.  Up  to 
this  time,  though  like  all  the  world  I  had  wasted  a  large 
portion  of  my  gains  upon  drink,  yet  I  had  never  gone  at 
it  like  a  madman.  But  what  of  that  ?  the  habit  was 
formed,  it  was  there  waiting  like  a  lion  for  its  prey, 
waiting  for  a  great  opportunity,  your  reverence  —  one 
came  —  I  was  in  despair,  —  my  appetite  was  gone,  and 
drink  comforted  my  stomach :  my  heart  was  dead,  and 
drink  made  it  beat.  I  had  recourse  to  this  solace, 
and  became  a  beast.  As  I  said  before,  for  a  whole  week 
I  was  never  not  to  say  sober. 

No  man  and  no  woman  is  safe  that  has  once  formed 
the  fatal  habit  of  looking  to  drink  for  solace  —  or  cheer- 
fulness —  or  comfort  ^.    While  the  world  goes  well 


•20 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF. 


they  will  likely  be  temperate :  but  the  habit  is  built, 
the  railroad  to  destruction  is  cut  ready  for  use,  the  trams 
are  laid  down,  and  the  station-houses  erected ;  and  the 
train  is  on  the  line  waiting  only  for  the  locomotive. 
Well,  the  first  great  trouble  or  hopeless  grief  is  the  loco- 
motive :  it  comes  to  us,  it  grapples  us,  and  away  we  go 
in  a  moment  down  the  line  we  have  been  years  construct- 
ing like  a  flash  of  lightning  to  the  devil. 

I  woke  one  afternoon  sober  and  penniless. 

From  drunkenness  to  thieving  is  not  a  very  wide  leap 
even  to  those  who  are  beginning  an  evil  career  —  to  me 
it  was  no  more  than  crossing  a  gutter.  I  pawned  my 
watch  and  got  on  board  the  steamer  for  London,  and 
back  to  my  old  haunts. 

I  soon  fell  in  with  an  old  pal  and  borrowed  ten  pounds 
of  him  and  began  first  to  pass  and  after  that  to  coin 
"  shoffle  ;  "  and,  when  that  was  not  quick  work  enough, 
took  to  housebreaking  and  shoplifting  again. 

But  in  the  early  part  of  this  chapter  of  my  career, 
having  very  little  cash,  for  part  of  the  ten  pounds  went 
for  clothes,  I  was  obliged  to  be  moderate  in  my  expenses, 
and  I  accordingly  spent  a  week  in  a  lodging-house  kept 
by  an  old  friend  of  mine,  which  I  will  try  to  describe. 

The  house  itself  is  divided  into  two  separate  compart- 
ments beside  the  bed-chambers. 

The  first,  or  state  apartment,  is  for  professional 
thieves. 

The  back  room  is  for  those  street  trades  that  lie 
between  thieving  and  commerce. 

My  friend  ushered  me  in  here,  and  there  were  more 
than  a  score  of  them  all  gazing  with  their  mouths  open 
at  the  new-comer  —  all  engaged  at  various  labors,  and 
talking  a  dozen  different  branches  of  cant. 

Some  were  making  mats,  some  arranging  articles  for 
sale  in  their  baskets  or  on  their  trays,  some  making 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF.  21 


matches,  the  "  askers "  selling  their  begged  bread  at 
three  halfpence  the  pound,  another  tuning  up  his  riddle, 
the  whole  lot  comparing  notes  to  the  detriment  of  the 
public,  the  beggar  telling  the  match-maker  at  what  house 
they  gave  him  meat  or  money,  the  hawker  and  mat- 
maker  exchanging  the  same  sort  of  profitable  informa- 
tion, by  which  many  an  easy-going  gentleman,  that 
thinks  himself  obscure,  gets  his  habits  published  among 
the  dregs  of  society,  and  perhaps  a  nickname  tacked  on 
to  him,  and  more  people  knowing  him  by  it  than  know 
him  by  his  own. 

Then  there  was  the  "buzzer"  practising  his  necro- 
mancy ;  presently  in  came  a  "  sneaker  "  with  half  a  firkin 
of  butter  for  sale  at  fourpence  per  pound,  on  which  the 
women  fell  to  abusing  their  men  because  they  had  not 
enough  money  to  buy  ten  or  twelve  pounds ;  children 
crying,  and  all  in  a  mighty  way  because  the  fountain  is 
not  boiling. 

In  the  corner  was  a  handsome  young  female  evidently 
a  stranger,  biting  the  end  of  her  apron-string,  her  mind 
not  being  able  to  comprehend  the  fulness  of  the  scene. 

"  Here  is  a  sweetheart  for  you  and  all,"  said  my  friend. 
u  She  is  waiting  for  her  husband  to  come  back,"  added 
he,  winking  to  me. 

Her  husband,  as  she  had  called  the  man  who  had 
enticed  her  from  her  friends,  never  came  back,  and 
indeed  nobody  except  herself  ever  thought  he  would. 

Then  to  amuse  her  mind  I  requested  her  to  go  an 
errand  for  me  —  she  agreed  —  I  gave  her  a  base  sov- 
ereign and  sent  her  to  buy  groceries,  which  when  she 
had  done,  I  invited  her  to  take  tea  with  me,  and  over 
our  tea  she  told  me  her  story  without  reserve. 

Finding  she  was  a  decent  girl,  and  apparently  had 
never  made  but  this  one  slip,  I  determined  to  enter  into 
partnership  with  her  if  she  would  consent. 
16 


22  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF. 

Strange  as  it  may  appear,  I  felt  the  want  of  a  female 
companion  now  in  a  way  I  never  had  until  Miss  B.'s 
death.  I  believe  my  nerves  were  shaken  by  that  sad 
event,  and  I  began  to  want  to  see  a  woman's  face  opposite 
me,  and  to  hear  the  soft  notes  of  a  female  voice. 

Three  days  after  our  first  meeting  we  were  married 
according  to  the  custom  of  the  house ;  i.e.,  a  traveller 
dressed  in  a  white  sheet,  with  holes  cut  for  his  arms, 
read  a  few  sentences  of  the  marriage-service  to  us  — he 
then  drew  a  line  on  the  floor  with  a  piece  of  chalk  and 
made  us  leap  over  it  in  succession,  while  he  recited  in  a 
solemn  voice  the  following  :  — 

"  Leap  rogue,  and  follow  jade, 
Man  and  wife  for  evermore." 

Which  concluded  the  ceremony,  and  we  were  man  and 
wife  in  the  eyes  of  all  the  lodgers,  unless  we  should 
agree  to  be  untied,  which  could  only  be  done  by  the 
same  party,  or  his  successor,  and  with  other  ceremonies, 
and  above  all  —  fees  !  We  soon  left  this  house  and  set 
up  a  lodging  of  our  own.  She  made  me  very  com- 
fortable when  I  was  at  home,  and  I  let  her  want  for 
nothing. 

I  lived  nearly  three  years  in  London  this  bout,  and, 
owing  to  the  company  I  kept,  I  got  the  cockney  phrase 
and  twang,  so  that  I  fear  I  will  never  entirely  get  rid  of 
them.  Indeed,  I  am  commonly  taken  for  a  cockney, 
which  is  a  sad  disgrace  to  a  man  born  north  of  the 
Tweed  k 

At  the  end  of  this  time  my  wife's  friends  sent  to  beg 
her  to  come  home,  which  she  asked  my  leave  to  do  —  I 
consented,  and  we  were  untied,  and  parted  with  mutual 
expressions  of  esteem.  Finding  London  rather  dull 
after  she  was  gone,  I  agreed  to  join  a  gang  of  us  that 
were  about  to  make  a  provincial  trip. 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF. 


23 


We  went  to  Mortimer,  a  village  in  Berkshire  —  the 
scene  of  our  business  was  Reading  and  its  neighbor- 
hood—  we  committed  some  very  daring  robberies  in 
Reading  and  Caversham,  that  will  not  soon  be  for- 
gotten. 

We  broke  into  one  house  in  Reading  in  open  day  — 
it  was  Sunday,  and  the  whole  family  were  gone  to 
church  —  we  rifled  the  house,  and  left  a  paper  on  the 
table,  on  which,  I  am  ashamed  j  to  tell  your  reverence, 
I  wrote,  — 

"  Watch  as  well  as  pray ! " 

But  this  could  not  last  forever.  I  had  been  out  fish- 
ing all  day  (a  sport  I  am  very  fond  of)  when  returning 
towards  dusk  I  saw  a  strange  face  at  one  of  the  windows 
of  our  house. 

Not  quite  understanding  this,  I  turned  back  and  went 
a  mile  round,  to  where  I  could  see  the  back  of  the  house 
without  being  recognized  —  and  my  caution  was  not 
wasted. 

I  soon  found  that  the  house  was  in  the  possession  of 
the  police,  and  that  all  or  most  of  my  comrades  were 
nabbed. 

Having  some  money  about  me  I  decamped,  and  re- 
turning to  town,  found  two  of  my  companions  about  to 
start  for  California,  dazzled  by  the  accounts  we  heard 
of  the  fortunes  made  there  by  digging  and  levying  the 
roadside  tax  on  those  who  dug. 

I  joined  them,  and  after  a  voyage  of  six  months  we 
landed  at  San  Francisco. 

Your  reverence  has  often  heard  me  talk  of  my  adven- 
tures in  that  country,  and  you  have  often  forbade  me  to 
be  always  thinking  and  talking  about  gold  —  I  will 
therefore  abstain  from  relating  my  adventures  in  the 
New  World  —  in  fact  they  would  of  themselves  fill  a 


24  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF. 

volume  —  suffice  it  to  say  I  had  at  one  time  twelve 
hundred  pounds  in  money  and  gold-dust,  but  I  wasted 
the  greater  part,  and  by  a  just  retribution  was  robbed 
of  the  rest. 

I  returned  to  London  with  ten  pounds  and  a  nugget 
which  I  sold  for  twenty-five  pounds  in  Threadneedle 
Street. 

And  now,  not  liking  the  smoke  of  London,  after  one 
or  two  successful  jobs,  which  swelled  my  stock  to  a  mat- 
ter of  sixty  pounds,  I  bought  some  new  clothes,  and 
went  down  to  Beading,  but  not  thinking  it  prudent  to 
remain  there  long,  I  crossed  the  river  and  went  into 
Oxfordshire. 

I  heard  of  a  farmer  who  sometimes  took  a  lodger, 
and  as  I  was  well  dressed,  and  he  too  honest  to  be 
suspicious,  we  soon  came  to  terms. 

The  farmer  was  George  Fielding,  of  whom  your 
reverence  has  often  heard  me  speak. 

I  never  met  with  such  a  character  as  his :  he  did  not 
seem  to  know  anything  about  lying,  far  less  taking 
anything  without  paying  for  it. 

When  I  first  lodged  with  him,  I  had,  of  course,  an 
eye  to  business,  but  I  got  so  fond  of  him  &  I  could 
not  take  anything  of  his  —  and  he  was  attached  to  me 
too,  until  one  unlucky  day  he  found  out  my  real  charac- 
ter ;  and  then  he  insulted  me  —  and  now  he  despises  me. 

I  spent  four  innocent  months  here,  and  I  often 
thought,  if  I  could  have  such  an  honest  man  as  George 
Fielding  always  close  to  my  side  all  day,  I  could  keep 
from  taking  anything  all  the  rest  of  my  life  —  but  un- 
luckily my  money  gradually  melted;  in  which  state  I 
went  to  a  fair  in  the  neighborhood.  I  saw  a  rich  farmer 
take  out  some  notes  and  make  a  payment,  and  put  the 
rest  back  into  a  side  pocket  —  almost  before  it  reached 
the  bottom  of  his  pocket  it  was  in  mine. 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF.  25 


The  country  banks  close  at  three  o'clock,  and  it  was 
near  four  at  the  time  —  I  got  rid  therefore  of  the  Bank 
of  England  notes,  meaning  to  change  the  others  when  a 
good  opportunity  should  occur. 

But  meantime  I  suppose  measures  were  taken  against 
me  —  any  way  the  police  came  down  from  London,  and 
I  was  seized,  identified,  and  put  to  an  open  shame. 

This,  the  last  passage  of  my  life,  went  nearer  to  drive 
me  to  despair  than  all  the  rest ;  for  I  had  begun  to  taste 
the  sweets  of  innocence,  and  to  love  honesty  under  the 
name  of  George  Fielding. 

I  was  convicted  at  the  assizes,  and  being  recognized  as 
having  been  seven  times  in  prison,  and  notoriously  guilty 
of  many  felonies  besides,  they  sentenced  me  to  twelve 
months  imprisonment,  and  transportation  for  ten  years. 

I  have  been  six  months  in  this  jail,  where  I  have  met 
with  most  cruel  treatment,  being  forced  to  labor  beyond 
my  strength  even  when  weakened  by  sickness ;  and 
punished  for  mere  inability  :  and,  besides  the  harm  this 
wrought  my  body,  it  hardened  my  heart  and  made  me 
look  on  mankind  as  my  enemy. 

But,  after  that,  your  reverence  was  sent  here  by 
Heaven  to  our  relief. 

It  was  my  good-fortune  to  find  in  you  a  gentleman 
whose  heart  was  large  enough  to  feel  for  all  who  suffer, 
and  whose  understanding  could  comprehend  that  a  con- 
vict is  a  man,  and  this  has  been  a  godsend  to  me,  and 
may  the  Almighty  bless  you  for  all  your  goodness,  and 
above  all  for  your  constant  battle  to  save  us  poor  fellows' 
souls,  and,  when  you  stand  one  day  at  the  great  tribunal, 
may  many  a  black  sheep  stand  round  you  that  the  world 
perhaps  took  for  goats  to  the  last ! 

Well,  sir,  when  I  look  back  upon  my  past  life,  of 
which  what  I  have  written  here  is  no  more  than  a  single 
page  out  of  volumes  and  volumes,  when  I  think  of  the 


26  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF. 


many  opportunities  I  have  had  of  doing  good  to  myself 
and  others,  and  then  think  of  how  it  all  ends  —  a  con- 
victed felon,  doomed  to  pass  the  remainder  of  my  life  in 
shame  and  exile,  debarred  from  situations  where  I  could 
execute  my  talents,  and  felon  printed  upon  me,  I  am 
whiles  tempted  to  put  the  gas-pipe  that  is  in  my  cell 
into  my  mouth  and  suck  the  poisonous  vapor  into  my 
lungs,  and  thus  with  crime  to  end  a  life  of  crime.  But 
then  your  face  rises  up  before  me  and  expostulates  with 
a  look,  and  bids  me  be  patient  and  hope,  also  your  words 
that  I  ought  to  be  thankful  to  God  for  His  mercy  in 
giving  me  time  to  reflect  on  the  enormity  of  my  crimes, 
and  not  cutting  me  down  as  a  cumberer  of  the  ground. 

But,  above  all,  I  feel  it  would  be  ungrateful  to  you 
and  grieve  you  if  I  was  to  make  away  with  myself  under 
your  eye ;  or  even  to  despair. 

I  will  try  my  best  to  be  somebody  yet  if  only  for  your 
reverence's  sake ;  for  it  is  a  shame  a  gentleman  like  you 
should  give  his  days  and  his  nights,  and  all  the  blood  in 
his  heart,  to  saving  us  poor  fellows  from  perdition,  and 
be  continually  disappointed. 

So  once  more  thanking  your  reverence  for  all  kind- 
ness, and  for  setting  me  to  write  this,  which  has  amused 
and  whiled  away  some  weary  hours,  and  begging  you  to 
excuse  all  faults  and  blunders,  for  in  my  busy  life  writ- 
ing is  an  art  I  have  had  no  time  to  give  my  mind  to,  I 
close  this  record  of  the  disgraceful  past,  and,  here  in  my 
cell,  envying  the  cripple  round  whom  the  free  air  plays 
and  on  whom  the  sun  shines,  I  await  the  gloomy  future. 

Thomas  * 

—  alias  Wilkinson, 

—  alias  Lyox, 

—  alias  McPherson, 

—  alias  Scott, 

—  alias  Howard, 

—  alias  Bobixson. 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF.  27 

a.  "  Collected  "  and  "  took  with  me."  No  such  thing. 
¥  Stole 99  is  the  word  that  represents  the  transactions. 
Always  be  precise  !  Never  tamper  with  words ;  call  a 
spade  a  spade  and  a  picklock  a  picklock  —  that  is  the 
first  step  towards  digging  instead  of  thieving. 

b.  She  did  not  fall  on  her  knees ;  you  put  that  in  for 
stage  effect,  and  it  produces  none,  the  gesture  is  so 
manifestly  inappropriate. 

c.  And  he  lent  it  you.  Pause  a  moment  and  look  at 
yourself  by  the  side  of  this  honest  (irascible  ? )  and 
magnanimous,  honest  man,  whose  hand  a  single  para- 
graph of  yours  made  me  long  to  grasp  in  mine. 

d.  "  When  its  topic  would  run  to  that  portion  which 
forms  the  golden  part  of  Cupid's  dart."  —  This  sentence 
is  rank  nonsense  —  no  more  of  this,  or  I  shall  fear  I  have 
warmed  a  poetaster. 

e.  "  0  cursed  night  and  place  that  robbed  a  virgin  of 
her  purity.  And  0  cursed  Tyne "  that  did  not  turn 
policeman  —  and  oh  blessed  Eobinson  that  was  alone  to 
blame.  Why,  what  bombast  is  this  ?  Always  put  the 
saddle  on  the  right  horse !  and  don't  be  so  fond  of  curs- 
ing —  believe  me,  it  is  a  bad  habit.  You  cursed  Mr. 
Hawes  who  needed  all  our  prayers — you  cursed  him  in 
earnest :  and  now  you  are  off  at  a  tangent  evading  those 
just  expressions  of  serious  self-reproach  proper  to  the 
situation,  and  cursing  in  jest  the  coaly  Tyne,  benefactor 
of  a  province,  and  the  night,  a  blessing  wide  as  the  world. 
Bless  and  curse  not ! 

/.  The  turning-point  of  your  life.  Had  you  stayed  at 
Newcastle  and  faced  it  out  like  a  man,  there  would  have 
been  a  storm,  I  grant  you,  the  old  chemist  would  have 
raved :  but  nature  is  strong ;  for  his  daughter's  sake  he 
would  have  ended  by  marrying  you  to  her,  and  you 
would  be  master  of  the  shop  now  —  an  honest  citizen  of 
Newcastle ;  but  though  you  had  given  up  theft  you  had 
not  forgotten  how  to  lie. 


28  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF. 


Observe !  —  this  is  a  new  starting-point ;  all  the  rest 
of  your  life  will  be  a  consequence  of  that  single  false- 
hood —  so  now  we  shall  see  whether  the  Bible  is  wrong 
in  its  hatred  and  terror  of  a  lie. 

g.  You  did  not  love  her,  don't  flatter  yourself ;  if  a 
thief  loved  a  woman  he  would  steal  her  ;  if  a  five-pound 
note  had  been  as  easy  to  filch  from  the  old  chemist  as 
this  poor  girl,  I  know  who  would  have  taken  it,  collected 
it,  removed  it,  abstracted  it,  and  changed  its  relative 
situation.  You  never  loved  her.  But  I  fear  she  loved 
you. 

h.  Eeal  wisdom  and  observation  in  this  remark. 

i.  Why  is  a  twang  worse  than  a  brogue  ?  and  why 
should  it  disgrace  the  native  of  a  small  nation  to  be 
taken  for  the  native  of  a  great  nation  ?  Is  a  sucker 
nobler  than  its  tree  ? 

j.  "  Ashamed  ?  "  —  The  little  humbug  could  not  resist 
showing  me  his  wit,  of  which  he  says  he  is  ashamed. 

k.  That  I  can  readily  believe  of  you,  and  it  is  by  your 
affections  we  must  try  and  save  you  with  God's  help. 

I  sum  up  your  career  as  Dr.  Johnson  did  the  "  Beggar's 
Opera." 

Here  is  a  labefaction  of  all  principle. 

Many  good  impulses  —  dug  in  sand. 

Many  good  feelings  —  unstable  as  water. 

Many  good  resolves  —  written  in  air. 

But  not  the  thousandth  part  of  a  grain  of  principle. 

But  how  human  your  sad  story  is  in  every  part ;  yet 
there  are  people  who  will  dream  that  you  and  your 
fellows  are  monsters,  and  prescribe  monstrous  remedies 
for  your  souls. 

I  thank  you  for  the  general  candor  of  your  narrative  : 
it  renders  my  task  a  little  easier. 

I  have  many  things  to  say  to  you  seriously  and  sadly 
about  points  in  this  story :  above  all,  I  must  show  you 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF.  29 


that  you  are  not  innocent  of  poor  Miss  B.'s  death,  whose 
unhappy  fate  has  made  me  very  sad  —  my  poor  fellow, 
you  have  not  yet  comprehended  how  much  this  poor  giri 
loved  you :  nor  the  variety  of  tortures  she  was  enduring 
all  the  while  you  were  jaunting  it  at  your  ease  all  over 
the  world.  These  killed  her  —  I  will  make  you  see  this 
and  repent  far  more  deeply  than  you  have  done.  Half 
the  cruelty  in  the  world  comes  by  want  of  intelligence. 

I  must  compliment  you  on  your  literary  powers  :  this 
is  really  an  astonishing  composition  for  a  complete 
novice  :  I  observe  that  towards  the  close  of  it,  short  as 
it  is,  you  have  already  become  a  better  writer  than  you 
were  at  starting — your  style  more  disengaged,  fewer 
Sir  Ablative  Absolutes,  polysyllables,  involved  sentences, 
and  less  ungrammatical  eloquence. 

If  it  will  give  you  any  pleasure  to  hear  it,  know  that 
in  a  pretty  large  experience  of  scholars,  artists,  lawyers, 
and  men  of  business,  I  never  encountered  a  man  with 
livelier  and  more  versatile  powers  than  yourself.  You 
ought  to  be  leading  the  House  of  Commons ;  and  you  are 
here ! 

I  do  not,  however,  admire  most  the  passages  on  which 
you  probably  pride  yourself ;  for  instance,  the  sublime 
passage  beginning  "  Is  it  a  castle  ?  " 

Here  rhetoric  intruded  unseasonably  upon  feeling. 
The  plain  narrative  of  your  poor  sweetheart's  death-bed, 
of  her  telling  you  woman-like  that  she  was  more  to 
blame  for  being  tempted  than  you  for  tempting  her,  her 
death  and  your  remorse,  moistened  my  eyes  as  I  read : 
but  your  sublime  reflections  dried  them  on  the  spot. 

Your  eloquence  reminded  me  that  you  are  a  humbug, 
and  never  really  loved  this  poor  girl ;  all  the  worse  for 
you. 

You  felt,  and  feel  remorse,  and  shall  feel  more,  but 
you  never  loved  Miss  B. :  do  not  flatter  yourself. 


30  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF. 


It  is  hardly  fair  to  dissect  the  sublime ;  still  permit 
me  with  due  timidity  and  respect  to  suggest  that  you 
have  taken  similitudes  and  called  them  distinctions  — 
contrasted  where  you  should  have  compared.  A  mould- 
ering castle,  a  mute  senate  house,  and  a  ruined  temple 
are  not  unlike,  but  like,  an  inanimate  body. 

What  says  the  poet,  writing  of  a  skull  ? 

"  Can  all  that  saint,  sage,  sophist,  ever  writ, 
People  this  lonely  hall,  this  tenement  refit?" 

In  matters  literary,  begin  with  logic;  build  on  that 
rhetoric  or  what  ornaments  you  will. 

In  matters  moral,  begin  with  a  grain  of  sense  and  prin- 
ciple, and  on  them  raise  the  ingenuity  and  versatile 
talents  of  Mr.  Thomas  Robinson !  Thus  you  shall  not 
sublimely  stumble  in  letters,  nor  in  conduct  be  an  in- 
genious, able,  versatile,  gifted,  clever,  blockhead  and 
fool. 

You  called  the  nightingale  "  him." 

This  shocks  an  innocent  prejudice. 

In  science,  it  is  to  be  feared  there  are  cock  nightin- 
gales. But  you  are  favoring  us  with  a  poetic  touch,  and 
in  poetry  nightingales  are  all  hens. 

Remind  me  some  day  to  tell  you  the  story  of  Philo- 
mele. 

Your  closing  sentences  are  sad,  and  would  make  me 
sad  or  sadder  if  I  saw  your  real  mind  in  them :  but  this 
is  only  a  temporary  despondency,  the  effect  of  separate 
confinement,  which  is  beginning  to  tell  on  you  spite  of 
all  we  can  do. 

I  shall  get  your  sentence  shortened,  and  you  will  soon 
cross  the  water  :  so  you  see  there  is  nothing  to  despond 
about  —  your  prospects  were  never  so  bright — you  are 
now  master  of  one  craft  and  well  advanced  in  others; 
you  are  at  no  man's  mercy ;  your  own  hands  avail  to 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF.  31 

reed,  and  keep,  and  clothe  you.  Be  honest,  and  you  will 
always  be  well  off.  Consecrate  your  talents  to  God's 
service,  and  you  will  most  likely  be  happy  even  in  this 
world.  And  for  the  short  time  you  have  to  remain  in 
confinement  we  will  find  you  all  the  occupation  and 
amusement  the  law  permits  ;  and  if  you  ever  feel  greatly 
depressed,  ring  that  moment  for  Evans  or  me,  and  we 
will  chase  the  foul  fiend  away. 

So  cheer  up,  and  don't  fancy  you  are  alone,  when  by 
putting  out  your  hand  you  can  bring  an  honest  fellow  to 
your  side  who  pities  you,  and  me  who  love  you. 

F.  E. 

PRISON  THOUGHTS. 

Caged  in  a  prison  cell,  how  sad,  yet  true, 

Does  the  lone  heart  bring  former  scenes  to  view, 

Till  the  racked  mind  with  bitter  frensy  driven, 

Maligns  the  just  decrees  of  Man  and  Heaven. 

The  grated  barrs,  and  iron  studded  door, 

The  cold  bare  walls,  and  chilly  pavement  floor, 

The  hammock,  table,  stool,  and  pious  book, 

The  jailors  stealthy  tread,  and  jealous  look, 

Force  back  the  maddened  thoughts  to  other  days, 

When  joyous  youth  was  crowned  with  hopeful  bays : 

E'er  rank  luxuriant  Folly  reigned  supreme, 

As  if  this  Life  was  nothing  but  a  dream, 

Or  the  dire  Cup  had  seared  the  unblighted  heart,, 

And  caused  all  holy  feelings  to  depart,  — 

E'er  Each  sweet  hour  so  innocently  gay, 

Passed  like  a  mellow  Summers'  eve  away. 

Cursed  be  the  hour,  when  first  I  turned  astray. 

From  keeping  sacred  Gods  own  hallowed  day  — 

When  first  I  learned  to  sip  the  poisoned  bowl, 

That  kills  the  body  and  corrupts  the  soul. 

'Twas  then  my  godly  lessons,  one  by  one, 

Fled  from  my  giddy  heart  till  all  were  gone, 

And  left  behind  a  waste  and  dreary  wild, 

A  conscience  hardened ;  and  a  soul  defiled. 


32 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF. 


—  Oh  !  when  I  think  on  what  I've  been  ;  and  see, 
My  present  state,  and  think  what  I  may  be, 
Dispair,  and  horror,  burns  and  boils  within, 

For  years  of  Folly  and  continued  sin ; 
Until  my  brain  seems  bursting  with  the  dread, 
Of  Heaven  s  just  judgments  falling  on  my  head. 
No  banefull  passions  fired  my  tranquil!  mind, 
No  wild  unruly  thoughts  raged  unconfined, 
But  all  was  fair,  and  gladsome  as  the  grove, 
Where  warbling  songsters  live  in  artless  love  —  . 

—  How  changed  my  lot,  —  No  Sister,  Mother,  Sire, 
Now  fondly  sit,  around  the  wintry  fire  : 

No  household  song  beguiles  the  lengthened  night, 

No  homely  jest  creates  a  fond  delight, 

No  sabbath  morning  sees  us  now  engage, 

In  rap't  attention  on  the  holy  page, 

Or  hears  the  swelling  notes  of  praise  and  prayer, 

Borne  on  the  breese,  &  floating  on  the  Air. 

Oh !  could  my  parents  shades  but  bend  on  earth, 

They'd  mourn  like  me  the  morning  of  my  birth, . 

—  Almighty  Father !  —  God  of  Life  and  Death, ! 
Give,  oh !  give  me,  a  true  and  living  Faith, 
Bestow  Thy  quickening  Spirit,  and  impart 
Thy  saving  Grace  to  tranquillize  my  heart, 
That  I  may  better  live,  for  time  to  come, 

And  rear  my  spirit  for  Thy  heavenly  home. ! 

THE  LAW  AND  THE  GOSPEL. 

A  Sermon  preached  in  the  Chapel  of  *  Jail,  on  Sunday, 
9th  January,  1849,  from  Matthew  5th  and  17th,  by  the  Rev. 
Francis  Eden  and  versified 

BY  ONE  OF  THE  PRISONERS. 

'Mid  rolling  clouds  of  fearfull  smoke, 
'Mid  lightnings  flash,  and  thunders  roar, 

'Mid  loud  continued  sounds,  which  shook, 
The  startled  earth  from  shore  to  shore, ! 

'Mid  volumes  of  devouring  flame, 

Unseen,  yet  felt,  the  Almighty  came, ! 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF. 


Lo !  on  Mount  Sinia's  giddy  height, 
Is  reared  Jehovahs  awfull  throne, 

Pregnant  with  Heavens  ethereal  light, 
Too  glorious  to  be  gazed  upon, 

While  beams  of  dazzling  brightness  bound 

The  Circuit  of  the  hallowed  ground ; 

Hark !  as  the  Appalling  voice  of  God, 
Proclaims  the  Law  of  Life  and  Death, 

Nature,  o'erburdened  with  the  load, 
Holds  hard  her  almost  fleeting  breath. 

While  sunless  heaven,  and  darkened  air 

Are  hung  with  blackness  of  dispair, ! 

Offspring  of  Gentile,  and  of  Jew, 
Descendants  of  a  common  stock, 

These  great  eternal  Laws  for  you 

Were  thundered  from  Mount  Sinia's  rock ; 

And  ill  or  good  on  him  shall  fall, 

Who  breaks  but  one,  or  keeps  them  all. 

But  oh !  weak  man  can  n'eer  obey, 

Laws  with  such  f earf ull  justice  fraught. 

For  every  moment  of  the  day 

He  sins  in  Word  or  deed,  or  thought. 

The  Law  of  Death  would  thus  enslave  him, 

Did  not  a  pardoning  Gospel  save  him,, 

From  Calvary's  hill  a  stream  proceeds, 
Whose  cleansing  merits  all  may  share, 

Aye,  even  although  their  guilt  exceeds 
The  weight  of  what  the  earth  can  bear. 

For  Christs  atoning  blood  can  clean. 

A  hell  deserving  world  from  sin. 

No  lightnings  flash,  no  scowling  sky, 
No  trembling  mount  of  smoke  and  flame, 

No  crashing  thunder  boomed  from  high. 
When  our  Great  Mediator  came : 

But  Seraphs  sounds  announced  to  earth 

Glad  tidings  of  a  Saviours  birth. 


34  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  A  THIEF. 


No  chosen  consecrated  priest, 

No  heaps  of  slain  or  seas  of  blood, 
Nor  solemn  Fast,  nor  stated  Feast, 

Can  now  appease  a  Jealous  God, 
Or  open  up  a  Fount  of  Grace, 
To  Adams  unregenerate  race, 

An  humble  heart,  a  lowly  mind, 

A  contrite  and  believing  soul, 
Where  Truth  and  Mercy  are  enshrined, 

Beyond  a  sinfull  world's  controul, 
Is  all  the  God  of  Heaven  will  claim, 
For  those  who  own  Immanuels  name ; ! 

How  goodly  are  the  steps  of  those, 

Who  walk  in  humbleness  of  heart, 
And  with  well  grounded  hopes  have  chose 

The  Gospels  sure  and  better  part. 
To  such  the  Law  of  works  is  dead, 
Through  Faith  in  Christ,  their  living  head. 

But,  as  Jehovahs  dread  decree, 

Does  with  a  Saviours  Love  unite, 
So  let  our  Faith  and  Works  agree, 

In  one  continued  bond  of  Light : 
For  Faith,  and  Works,  if  used  alone, 
Can  n'eer  for  guilty  deeds  atone. 

Then  fly  ye  Sinners  to  the  Cross, 

There  let  your  eager  hopes  be  bound, 

Count  all  things  else  but  dung  and  dross, 
To  win  Christ,  and  in  him  be  found, 

So  shall  your  Christian  race  be  blest, 

With  Heavens  prepared  Eternal  Rest ! 

*  Jail,  3rd  Feby  1848. 

Prisoner's  name  —  Thomas  Robinson. 


JACK   OF  ALL  TRADES. 

A  MATTER-OF-FACT  ROMANCE. 


There  are  nobs  in  the  world,  and  there  are  snobs. 

I  regret  to  say  I  belong  to  the  latter  department. 

There  are  men  that  roll  through  life,  like  a  fine  new 
red  ball  going  across  Mr.  Lord's  cricket-ground  on  a 
sunshiny  day ;  there  is  another  sort  that  have  to  rough 
it  in  general,  and  above  all  to  fight  tooth  and  nail  for 
the  quartern-loaf  —  and  not  always  win  the  battle ;  I  am 
one  of  this  lot. 

One  comfort,  folk  are  beginning  to  take  an  interest  in 
us ;  I  see  nobs  of  the  first  water  looking  with  a  fatherly 
eye  into  our  affairs,  our  leaden  taxes  and  feather  in- 
comes, our  fifteen  per  cent  on  undeniable  security  when 
the  rich  pay  but  three  and  a  half ;  our  privations  and 
vexations ;  our  dirt  and  distresses  ;  and  one  day  a  liter- 
ary gent,  that  knows  my  horrible  story,  assured  me  that 
my  ups  and  downs  would  entertain  the  nobility,  gentry, 
and  commonalty  of  these  realms. 

"  Instead  of  grumbling  to  me,"  says  he,  "  print  your  ' 
troubles ;  and  I  promise  you  all  the  world  will  read 
them,  and  laugh  at  them." 

"  No  doubt,  sir,"  said  I  rather  ironical,  "  all  the  world 
is  at  leisure  for  that." 

"Why,  look  at  the  signs  of  the  times,"  says  he,  "can't 
you  see  workmen  are  up  ?  so  take  us  while  we  are  in  the 


36 


JACK  OF  ALL  TEADES. 


humor,  and  that  is  now.  We  shall  not  always  be  for 
squeezing  honey  out  of  weeds,  shall  we?"  — "  Not 
likely,  sir,"  says  L  Says  he,  "  How  nice  it  will  be  to 
growl  wholesale  to  a  hundred  thousand  of  your  country- 
men (which  they  do  love  a  bit  of  a  growl),  instead  of 
growling  retail  to  a  small  family  that  has  got  hardened 
to  you  !  "  And  there  he  had  me  ;  for  I  am  an  English- 
man, and  proud  of  it,  and  attached  to  all  the  national 
habits,  except  delirium  tremens.  In  short,  what  with 
him  inflaming  my  dormant  conceit,  and  me  thinking, 
"  Well,  I  can  but  say  my  say  and  then  relapse  into  befit- 
ting silence,"  I  did  one  day  lay  down  the  gauge  and 
take  up  the  pen,  in  spite  of  my  wife's  sorrowful  looks. 

She  says  nothing,  but  you  may  see  she  does  not  be- 
lieve in  the  new  tool,  and  that  is  cheerful  and  inspiriting 
to  a  beginner. 

However,  there  is  a  something  that  gives  me  more  con- 
fidence than  all  my  literary  friend  says  about  "  workmen 
being  up  in  the  literary  world,"  and  that  is,  that  I  am 
not  the  hero  of  my  own  story. 

Small  as  I  sit  here  behind  my  wife's  crockery,  and  my 
own  fiddles,  in  this  thundering  hole,  Wardour  Street,  I 
was  for  many  years  connected  with  one  of  the  most 
celebrated  females  of  modern  times ;  her  adventures  run 
side  by  side  with  mine  ;  she  is  the  bit  of  romance  that 
colors  my  humble  life,  and  my  safest  excuse  for  intrud- 
ing on  the  public. 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


37 


CHAPTER  I. 

Father  and  mother  lived  in  King  Street,  Soho :  he 
was  a  fiddle-maker,  and  taught  me  the  A  B  C  of  that 
science  —  at  odd  times ;  for  I  had  a  regular  education, 
and  a  very  good  one,  at  a  school  in  West  Street.  This 
part  of  my  life  was  as  smooth  as  glass  ;  my  troubles 
did  not  begin  till  I  was  thirteen  :  at  that  age  my  mother 
died,  and  then  I  found  out  what  she  had  been  to  me  : 
that  was  the  first  and  the  worst  grief ;  the  next  I 
thought  bad  enough;  coming  in  from  school  one  day, 
about  nine  months  after  her  death,  I  found  a  woman 
sitting  by  the  fire  opposite  father. 

I  came  to  a  stand  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  with  two 
eyes  like  saucers  staring  at  the  pair,  so  my  father 
introduced  me. 

"  This  is  your  new  mother.    Anne,  this  is  John." 

"Come  and  kiss  me,  John,"  says  the  lady.  Instead 
of  which  John  stood  stock-still,  and  burst  out  roaring 
and  crying  without  the  least  leaving  off  staring,  which, 
to  be  sure,  was  a  cheerful,  encouraging  reception  for  a 
lady  just  come  into  the  family.  I  roared  pretty  hard 
for  about  ten  seconds,  then  stopped  dead  short,  and  says 
I,  with  a  sudden  calm,  the  more  awful  for  the  storm  that 
had  raged  before,  "  I'll  go  and  tell  Mr.  Paley  ! "  and  out 
I  marched. 

Mr.  Paley  was  a  little  hump-backed  tailor  with  the 
heart  of  a  dove  and  the  spirit  of  a  lion  or  two.  I  made 
his  acquaintance  through  pitching  into  two  boys,  that 
were  queering  his  protuberances  all  down  Princes  Street, 
Soho  —  a  kind  of  low  humor  he  detested ;  and  he  had 
17 


38 


JACK  OF  ALL  TKADES. 


taken  quite  a  fancy  to  me  $  we  were  hand  and  glove,  the 
old  man  and  me. 

I  ran  to  Paley  and  told  him  what  had  befallen  upon 
the  house ;  he  was  not  struck  all  of  a  heap  as  I  thought 
he  would  be :  and  he  showed  me  it  was  legal,  of  which 
I  had  not  an  idea,  and  his  advice  was,  "  Put  a  good  face 
on  it,  or  the  house  will  soon  be  too  hot  to  hold  you,  boy." 

He  was  right :  I  don't  know  whether  it  was  my  fault 
or  hers,  or  both's,  but  we  could  never  mix.  I  had  seen 
another  face  by  that  fireside  and  heard  another  voice  in 
the  house  that  seemed  to  me  a  deal  more  melodious 
than  hers,  and  the  house  did  become  hotter,  and  the  in- 
mates' looks  colder  than  agreeable ;  so  one  day  I  asked 
my  father  to  settle  me  in  some  other  house  not  less  than 
a  mile  from  King  Street,  Soho.  He  and  stepmother 
jumped  at  the  offer,  and  apprenticed  me  to  Mr.  Dawes. 
Here  I  learned  more  mysteries  of  guitar-making,  violin- 
making,  etc.,  and  lived  in  tolerable  comfort  nearly  four 
years ;  there  was  a  ripple  on  the  water  though.  My 
master  had  a  brother,  a  thick-set,  heavy  fellow,  that  used 
to  bully  my  master,  especially  when  he  was  groggy,  and 
less  able  to  take  his  own  part.  My  master  being  a  good 
fellow,  I  used  to  side  with  him,  and  this  brought  me  a 
skinful  of  sore  bones  more  than  once,  I  can  tell  you.  But 
one  night  after  some  months  of  peace,  I  heard  a  terrible 
scrimmage,  and  running  down  into  the  shop-parlor  I 
found  Dawes  junior  pegging  into  Dawes  senior,  no 
allowance,  and  him  crying  blue  murder. 

I  was  now  an  able-bodied  youth  between  sixteen  and 
seventeen  years  of  age,  and,  having  a  little  score  of  my 
own  with  the  attacking  party,  I  opened  quite  silent  and 
business-like  with  a  one,  two,  and  knocked  him  into  a 
corner  flat,  perpendicular.  He  was  dumfoundered  for  a 
moment,  but  the  next  he  came  out  like  a  bull  at  me.  I 
stepped  on  one  side  and  met  him  with  a  blow  on  the 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


39 


side  of  the  temple  and  knocked  him  flat  horizontal ;  and 
when  he  offered  to  rise  I  shook  my  fist  at  him  and 
threatened  him  he  should  come  to  grief  if  he  dared  to 
move. 

At  this  he  went  on  quite  a  different  lay :  he  lay  still 
and  feigned  dissolution  with  considerable  skill,  to 
frighten  us ;  and  I  can't  say  I  felt  easy  at  all,  but  my 
master,  who  took  cheerful  views  of  everything  in  his 
cups,  got  the  enemy's  tumbler  of  brandy-and-water,  and, 
with  hiccups  and  absurd  smiles  and  a  teaspoon,  deposited 
the  contents  gradually  on  the  various  parts  of  his  body. 

"  Lez  revive 'm  !  "  said  he. 

This  was  low  life  to  come  to  pass  in  a  respectable 
tradesman's  back-parlor.  But  when  grog  comes  in  at 
the  door,  good  manners  walk  to  the  window,  ready  to 
take  leave  if  requested.  Where  there  is  drink  there  is 
always  degradation  of  some  sort  or  degree ;  put  that  in 
your  tumblers  and  sip  it ! 

After  this  no  more  battles.  The  lowly  apprentice's 
humble  efforts  (pugilistic)  restored  peace  to  his  master's 
family. 

Six  months  of  calm  industry  now  rolled  over,  and 
then  I  got  into  trouble  by  my  own  fault. 

Looking  back  upon  the  various  fancies,  and  opinions, 
and  crotchets  that  have  passed  through  my  head  at  one 
time  or  another,  I  find  that,  between  the  years  of  seven- 
teen and  twenty-four,  a  strange  notion  beset  me  ;  it  was 
this  :  that  women  are  all  angels. 

For  this  chimera  I  now  began  to  suffer,  and  continued 
to  at  intervals  till  the  error  was  rooted  out — with 
their  assistance. 

There  were  two  women  in  my  master's  house,  his 
sister  aged  twenty-four,  and  his  cook  aged  thirty-seven  ; 
with  both  these  I  fell  ardently  in  love ;  and  so,  with  my 
sentiments,  I  should  have  with  six,  had  the  house  held 


40 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


half  a  dozen.  Unluckily  my  affections  were  not 
accompanied  with  the  discretion  so  ticklish  a  situation 
called  for.  The  ladies  found  one  another  out,  and  I  fell 
a  victim  to  the  virtuous  indignation  that  fired  three 
bosoms. 

The  cook,  in  virtuous  indignation  that  an  apprentice 
should  woo  his  master's  sister,  told  my  master. 

The  young  lady,  in  virtuous  indig.  that  a  boy  should 
make  a  fool  of  "  that  old  woman,"  told  my  master,  who, 
unluckily  for  me,  was  now  the  quondam  Dawes  junior ; 
Dawes  senior  having  retired  from  the  active  business  and 
turned  sleeping  and  drinking  partner. 

My  master,  whose  v.  i.  was  the  strongest  of  the  three, 
since  it  was  him  I  had  leathered,  took  me  to  Bow  Street, 
made  his  complaint,  and  forced  me  to  cancel  my  indent- 
ures ;  the  cook  with  tears  packed  up  my  Sunday  suit ; 
the  young  lady  opened  her  bedroom-door  three  inches 
and  shut  it  with  a  don't-come-anigh-me  slam ;  and  I 
drifted  out  to  London  with  eighteen-pence  and  my  tools. 

On  looking  back  on  this  incident  of  my  life,  I  have  a 
regret ;  a  poignant  one  ;  it  is  that  some  good  Christian 
did  not  give  me  a  devilish  good  hiding  into  the  bargain 
then  and  there.  I  did  not  feel  quite  strong  enough  in 
the  spirits  to  go  where  I  was  sure  to  be  blown  up ;  so  I 
skirted  King  Street  and  entered  the  Seven  Dials,  and 
went  to  Mr.  Paley  and  confessed  my  sins. 

How  differently  the  same  thing  is  seen  by  different 
eyes !  all  the  morning  I  had  been  called  a  young  villain, 
first  by  one,  then  by  another,  till  at  last  I  began  to  see 
it :  Mr.  Paley  viewed  me  in  the  light  of  martyr,  and  I 
remember  I  fell  into  his  views  on  the  spot. 

Paley  was  a  man  that  had  his  little  theory  about 
women,  and  it  differed  from  my  juvenile  one. 

He  held  that  women  are  at  bottom  the  seducers,  men 
the  seduced.    "  The  men  court  the  women,  I  grant  you, 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


41 


but  so  it  is  the  fish  that  runs  after  the  bait,"  said  he. 
"  The  women  draw  back  ?  yes,  and  so  does  the  angler 
draw  back  the  bait  when  the  fish  are  shy,  don't  he  ? 
and  then  the  silly  gudgeons  misunderstand  the  move, 
and  make  a  rush  at  it,  and  get  hooked  — like  you." 

Holding  such  vile  sentiments  he  shifted  all  the  blame 
off  my  shoulders ;  he  turned  to  and  abused  the  whole 
gang,  as  he  called  the  family  in  Litchfield  Street  I  had 
just  left,  instead  of  reading  me  the  lesson  for  the  day, 
which  he  ought,  and  I  should  have  listened  to  from  him 
—  perhaps. 

"  Now  then,  don't  hang  your  head  like  that,"  shouted 
the  spunky  little  fellow,  "snivelling  and  whimpering 
at  your  time  of  life !  we  are  going  to  have  a  jolly  good 
supper,  you  and  I,  that  is  what  we  are  going  to  do ;  and 
you  shall  sleep  here :  my  daughter  is  at  school ;  you 
shall  have  her  room.  I  am  in  good  work  —  thirty  shil- 
lings a  week  —  that  is  plenty  for  three,  Lucy  and  you 
and  me  (himself  last).  Your  father  isn't  worth  a 
bone  button,  and  your  mother  isn't  worth  the  shank  to 
it :  I'm  your  father,  and  your  mother  into  the  bargain, 
for  want  of  a  better :  you  live  with  me  and  snap  your 
fingers  at  Dawes  and  all  his  crew  —  ha,  ha!  —  a  fine  loss 
to  be  sure  —  the  boy  is  a  fool  —  cooks  and  coquettes  and 
fiddle-touters,  rubbish  not  worth  picking  up  out  of  a 
gutter  —  they  be  d-  d ! " 

And  so  I  was  installed  in  Miss  Paley's  apartment, 
Seven  Dials ;  and  nothing  would  have  made  my  adopted 
parent  happier  than  for  me  to  be  put  my  hands  in  my 
pockets,  and  live  upon  goose  and  cabbage.  But  down- 
right laziness  was  never  my  character.  I  went  round  to 
all  the  fiddle-shops  and  offered,  as  bold  as  brass,  to  make 
a  violin,  a  tenor  or  a  bass,  and  bring  it  home.  Most  of 
them  looked  shy  at  me,  for  it  was  necessary  to  trust  me 
with  the  wood,  and  to  lend  me  one  or  two  of  the  higher 


42 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


class  of  tools,  such  as  a  turning-saw,  and  a  jointing- 
plane. 

At  last  I  came  to  Mr.  Dodd  in  Berners  Street ;  here 
my  father's  name  stood  me  in  stead.  Mr.  Dodd  risked 
his  wood  and  the  needful  tools,  and  in  eight  days  I 
brought  him,  with  conceit  and  trepidation  mixed  in 
equal  part,  a  violin,  which  I  had  sometimes  feared  it 
would  frighten  him,  and  sometimes  hoped  it  would 
charm  him.  He  took  it  up,  gave  it  one  twirl  round,  sat- 
isfied himself  it  was  a  fiddle,  good,  bad,  or  indifferent, 
put  it  in  the  window  along  with  the  rest,  and  paid  for  it 
as  he  would  for  a  penny  roll.  I  timidly  proposed  to 
make  another  for  him  ;  he  grunted  a  consent,  which  it 
did  not  seem  to  me  a  rapturous  one. 

Mr.  Metzler  also  ventured  to  give  me  work  of  this 
kind.  For  some  months  I  wrought  hard  all  day,  and 
amused  myself  with  my  companions  all  the  evening, 
selecting  my  pals  from  the  following  classes :  small 
actors,  showmen,  pedestrians,  and  clever,  discontented 
mechanics  ;  one  lot  I  never  would  have  at  any  price,  and 
that  was  the  stupid  ones,  that  could  only  booze  and 
could  not  tell  me  anything  I  did  not  know  about  pleas- 
ure, business,  and  life. 

This  was  a  bright  existence :  so  it  came  to  a  full  stop. 

At  one  and  the  same  time  Miss  Paley  came  home,  and 
the  fiddle-trade  took  one  of  those  chills  all  fancy  trades 
are  subject  to. 

No  work  —  no  lodging  without  paying  for  it  —  no 
wherewithal. 


JACK  OF  ALL  TKADES, 


43 


CHAPTER  II. 

John  Beard,  a  friend  of  mine,  was  a  painter  and 
grainer.  His  art  was  to  imitate  oak,  maple,  walnut, 
satin-wood,  etc.,  upon  vulgar  deal,  beech,  or  what  not, 

This  business  works  thus :  first,  a  coat  of  oil-color  is 
put  on  with  a  brush,  and  this  color  imitates  what  may 
be  called  the  background  of  the  wood  that  is  aimed  at : 
on  this  oil-background  the  champ,  the  fibre,  the  grain, 
and  figure,  and  all  the  incidents  of  the  superior  wood, 
are  imitated  by  various  manoeuvres  in  water-colors ;  or 
rather  in  beer-colors,  for  beer  is  the  approved  medium. 
A  coat  of  varnish  over  all  gives  a  look  of  unity  to  the 
work. 

Beard  was  out  of  employ ;  so  was  I ;  bitter  against 
London ;  so  was  I.  He  sounded  me  about  trying  the 
country,  and  I  agreed ;  and  this  was  the  first  step  of  my 
many  travels. 

We  started  the  next  day ;  he  with  his  brushes  and  a 
few  colors  and  one  or  two  thin  panels,  painted  by  way  of 
advertisement ;  and  I  with  hope,  inexperience,  and  three- 
pence. On  the  road  we  spent  this  and  his  fivepence, 
and  entered  the  town  of  Brentford  towards  nightfall  as 
empty  as  drums,  and  as  hungry  as  wolves. 

|  What  was  to  be  done  ?  After  a  long  discussion  we 
agreed  to  go  to  the  mayor  of  the  town  and  tell  him  our 

'case,  and  offer  to  paint  his  street-door  in  the  morning,  if 
he  would  save  our  lives  for  the  night. 

We  went  to  the  mayor ;  luckily  for  us,  he  had  risen 
from  nothing,  as  we  were  going  to  do ;  and  so  he  knew 


44 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


exactly  what  we  meant  when  we  looked  up  in  his  face 
and  laid  our  hands  on  our  sausage-grinders.  He  gave 
us  eighteen-pence  and  an  order  on  a  lodging-house,  and 
put  bounds  to  our  gratitude  by  making  us  promise  to  let 
his  street-door  alone  ;  we  thanked  him  from  our  hearts, 
supped,  and  went  to  bed,  and  agreed  the  country  (as  we 
two  cockneys  called  Brentford)  was  chock-full  of  good 
fellows. 

The  next  day  up  early  in  the  morning,  and  away  to 
Hounslow ;  here  Beard  sought  work  all  through  the 
town:  and  just  when  we  were  in  despair  he  got  one 
door.  We  dined  and  slept  on  this  door,  but  we  could 
not  sup  off  it :  we  had  twopence  over  though  for  the 
morning,  and  walked  on  a  penny-roll  each  to  Maiden- 
head. 

Here,  as  we  entered  the  town,  we  passed  a  little  house 
with  the  door  painted  oak,  and  a  brass  plate  announcing 
a  plumber,  and  glazier,  and  house-painter.  Beard  pulled 
up  before  this  door  in  sorrowful  contempt.  "Now  look 
here,  John,"  says  he,  "  here  is  a  fellow  living  among  the 
woods,  and  you  would  swear  he  never  saw  an  oak  plank 
in  his  life,  to  look  at  his  work." 

Before  so  very  long  we  came  to  another  specimen; 
this  was  maple,  and  farther  from  nature  than  a  lawyer 
from  heaven,  as  the  saying  is.  "  There,  that  will  do," 
says  Beard.  "  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  we  must  try  a  dif- 
ferent move ;  it  is  no  use  looking  for  work ;  folks  will 
only  employ  their  own  tradesmen ;  we  must  teach  the 
professors  of  the  art  at  so  much  a  panel." 

"  Will  they  stomach  that  ?  "  said  I. 

"I  think  they  will,  as  we  are  strangers  and  from 
London.  You  go  and  see  whether  there  is  a  fiddle  to  be 
doctored  in  the  town,  and  meet  me  again  in  the  market- 
place at  twelve  o'clock." 

I  did  meet  him,  and  forlorn  enough  I  was ;  my  trade 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


45 


had  broke  down  in  Maidenhead;  not  a  job  of  any 
sort. 

"  Come  to  the  public-house  ! "  was  his  first  word : 
that  sounded  well,  I  thought. 

We  sat  down  to  bread  and  cheese  and  beer,  and  he 
told  his  tale. 

It  seems  he  went  into  a  shop,  told  the  master  he  was 
a  painter  and  grainer  from  a  great  establishment  in 
London,  and  was  in  the  habit  of  travelling  and  instruct- 
ing provincial  artists  in  the  business.  The  man  was  a 
pompous  sort  of  a  customer,  and  told  Beard  he  knew  the 
business  as  well  as  he  did,  better  belike. 

Beard  answered,  "Then  you  are  the  only  one  here 
that  does ;  for  I've  been  all  through  the  town,  and  any- 
thing wider  from  the  mark  than  their  oak  and  maple 
I  never  saw."  Then  he  quietly  took  down  his  panels 
and  spread  them  out,  and  looking  out  sharp  he  noticed 
a  sudden  change  come  over  the  man's  face. 

"Well,"  says  the  man,  "we  reckon  ourselves  pretty 
good  at  it  in  this  town.  However,  I  shouldn't  mind  see- 
ing how  you  London  chaps  do  it.  What  do  you  charge 
for  a  specimen  ?  " 

"My  charge  is  two  shillings  a  panel.  What  wood 
should  you  like  to  gain  a  notion  of  ?  "  said  Beard,  as  dry 
as  a  chip. 

"  Well  —  satin-wood." 

Beard  painted  a  panel  of  satin-wood  before  his  eyes ; 
and  of  course  it  was  done  with  great  ease,  and  on  a  bet- 
ter system  than  had  reached  Maidenhead  up  to  that 
time.    "  Now,"  says  Beard,  "  I  must  go  to  dinner." 

"Well,  come  back  again,  my  lad,"  says  the  man,  "and 
we  will  go  in  for  something  else."  So  Beard  took  his 
two  shillings  and  met  me  as  aforesaid. 

After  dinner  he  asked  for  a  private  room.  "  A  private 
room,"  said  I ;  "  hadn't  you  better  order  our  horse  and 
gig  out,  and  go  and  call  on  the  rector  ? " 


46 


JACK  OF  ALL  TKADES. 


"  None  of  your  chaff,"  says  he. 

When  we  got  into  the  room,  he  opened  the  business. 

"  Your  trade  is  no  good ;  you  must  take  to  mine." 

"What,  teach  painters  how  to  paint,  when  I  don't 
know  a  stroke  myself  ! " 

"  Why  not  ?  You've  only  got  it  to  learn :  they  have 
got  to  unlearn  all  they  know ;  that  is  the  only  long  pro- 
cess about  it.  I'll  teach  you  in  five  minutes,"  says  he ; 
"look  here."  He  then  imitated  oak  before  me,  and 
made  me  do  it.  He  corrected  my  first  attempt :  the 
second  satisfied  him  ;  we  then  went  on  to  maple,  and  so 
through  all  the  woods  he  could  mimic.  He  then  returned 
to  his  customer,  and  I  hunted  in  another  part  of  the 
town  ;  and  before  nightfall  I  actually  gave  three  lessons 
to  two  professors  :  it  is  amazing  but  true,  that  I,  who 
had  been  learning  ten  minutes,  taught  men  who  had 
been  all  their  lives  at  it  —  in  the  country. 

One  was  so  pleased  with  his  tutor,  that  he  gave  me  a 
pint  of  beer  besides  my  fee.  I  thought  he  was  poking 
fun  when  he  first  offered  it  me. 

Beard  and  I  met  again  triumphant :  we  had  a  rousing 
supper  and  a  good  bed,  and  the  next  day  started  for 
Henley,  where  we  both  did  a  small  stroke  of  business ; 
and  on  to  Reading  for  the  night. 

Our  goal  was  Bristol.  Beard  had  friends  there.  But 
as  we  zigzagged  for  the  sake  of  the  towns,  we  were 
three  weeks  walking  to  that  city ;  but  we  reached  it  at 
last,  having  disseminated  the  science  of  graining  in  many 
cities,  and  got  good  clothes  and  money  in  return. 

At  Bristol  we  parted.  He  found  regular  employment 
the  first  day,  and  I  visited  the  fiddle-shops  and  offered 
my  services.  At  most  I  was  refused ;  at  one  or  two  T 
got  trifling  jobs ;  but  at  last  I  went  to  the  right  one. 
The  master  agreed  with  me  for  piece-work  on  a  large 
scale,  and  the  terms  were  such  that  by  working  quick 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


47 


and  very  steady,  I  could  make  about  twenty-five  shil- 
lings a  week.  At  this  I  kept  two  years,  and  might  have 
longer,  no  doubt  —  but  my  employer's  niece  came  to  live 
with  him. 

She  was  a  woman :  and  my  theory  being  in  full  career 
at  this  date,  mutual  ardor  followed,  and  I  asked  her  hand 
of  her  uncle,  and  instead  of  that  he  gave  me  what  the 
Turkish  ladies  get  for  the  same  offence  —  the  sack.  Of£ 
to  London  again,  and  the  money  I  had  saved  by  my 
industry  just  landed  me  in  the  Seven  Dials  and  sixpence 
over. 

I  went  to  Paley,  crestfallen  as  usual.  He  heard  my 
story,  complimented  me  on  my  energy,  industry,  and 
talent,  regretted  the  existence  of  woman,  and  inveighed 
against  her  character  and  results. 

We  went  that  evening  to  private  theatricals  in  Berwick 
Street,  and  there  I  fell  in  with  an  acquaintance  in  the 
firework  line ;  on  hearing  my  case,  he  told  me  I  had  just 
fallen  from  the  skies  in  time,  his  employer  wanted  a 
fresh  hand. 

The  very  next  day  behold  me  grinding  and  sifting  and 
ramming  powder  at  Somers  Town,  and  at  it  ten  months. 

My  evenings,  when  I  was  not  undoing  my  own  work 
to  show  its  brilliancy,  were  often  spent  in  private 
theatricals. 

I  hear  a  row  made  just  now  about  a  dramatic  school. 
"  We  have  no  dramatic  schools,"  is  the  cry.  Well,  in 
the  day  I  speak  of  there  were  several ;  why,  I  belonged 
to  two.  We  never  brought  to  light  an  actor ;  but  we 
succeeded  so  far  as -to  ruin  more  than  one  lad  who  had 
brains  enough  to  make  a  tradesman,  till  we  heated  those 
brains  and  they  boiled  all  away. 

The  way  we  destroyed  youth  was  this ;  of  course 
nobody  would  pay  a  shilling  at  the  door  to  see  us  run- 
ning wild  among  Shakespeare's  lines  like  pigs  broken  into 


48 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


a  garden  :  so  the  expenses  fell  upon  the  actors  ;  and  they 
paid  according  to  the  value  of  the  part  each  played. 
Richard  the  Third  cost  a  puppy  two  pounds  ;  Richmond, 
fifteen  shillings  ;  and  so  on,  so  that  with  us,  as  in  the 
big  world,  dignity  went  by  wealth,  not  merit.  I  remem- 
ber this  made  me  sore  at  the  time ;  still  there  are  two 
sides  to  everything :  they  say  poverty  urges  men  to 
crime  ;  mine  saved  me  from  it.  If  I  could  have  afforded, 
I  would  have  murdered  one  or  two  characters  that  have 
lived  with  good  reputation  from  Queen  Bess  to  Queen 
Victoria ;  but  as  I  couldn't  afford  it,  others  that  could 
did  it  for  me. 

Well,  in  return  for  his  cash,  Richard  or  Hamlet 
or  Othello  commanded  tickets  in  proportion ;  for  the 
tickets  are  only  gratuitous  to  the  spectators. 

Consequently  at  night  each  important  actor  played  not 
only  to  a  most  merciful  audience,  but  a  large  band  of 
devoted  friendly  spirits  in  it,  who  came  not  to  judge 
him,  but  express  to  carry  him  through  triumphant,  like 
an  election.  Now,  when  a  vain,  ignorant  chap  hears  a 
lot  of  hands  clapping,  he  has  not  the  sense  to  say  to  him- 
self "  paid  for ! "  No,  it  is  applause,  and  applause  stamps 
his  own  secret  opinion  of  himself :  he  was  off  his  balance 
before,  and  now  he  tumbles  heel  over  tip  into  the  notion 
that  he  is  a  genius ;  throws  his  commercial  prospects 
after  the  two  pounds  that  went  in  Richard  or  Beverley, 
and  crosses  Waterloo  Bridge  spouting,  — 

"  A  fico  for  the  shop  and  poplins  base ! 
Counter,  avaunt !    I  on  his  southern  bank 
Will  lire  the  Thames!" 

Noodle  thus  singing  goes  over  the  water.  But  they 
won't  have  him  at  the  Surrey  or  the  Vic. :  so  he  takes 
to  the  country :  and,  while  his  money  lasts,  and  he  can 
pay  the  mismanager  of  a  small  theatre,  he  gets  leave  to 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


49 


play  with  Bichard  and  Hamlet.  But  when  the  money 
is  gone  and  he  wants  to  be  paid  for  Eichard  &  Co.,  they 
laugh  at  him,  and  put  him  in  his  right  place,  and  that 
is  a  utility,  and  perhaps  ends  a  "  super. ; "  when,  if  he 
had  not  been  a  coxcomb,  he  might  have  sold  ribbon  like 
a  man  to  his  dying  day. 

We,  and  our  dramatic  schools,  ruined  more  than  one 
or  two  of  this  sort  by  means  of  his  vanity  in  my  young 
days. 

My  poverty  saved  me.  The  conceit  was  here  in  vast 
abundance,  but  not  the  funds  to  intoxicate  myself  with 
such  choice  liquors  as  Hamlet  &  Co.  Nothing  above  old 
Gobbo  (five  shillings)  ever  fell  to  my  lot  and  by  my 
talent. 

When  I  had  made  and  let  off  fireworks  for  a  few 
months,  I  thought  I  could  make  more  as  a  rocket-master, 
than  a  rocket-man.  I  had  saved  a  pound  or  two.  Most 
of  my  friends  dissuaded  me  from  the  attempt ;  but  Paley 
said,  "  Let  him  alone  now  —  don't  keep  him  down  —  he 
is  born  to  rise.  I'll  risk  a  pound  on  him."  So,  by  dint 
of  several  small  loans,  I  got  the  materials  and  made  a 
set  of  fireworks  myself,  and  agreed  with  the  keeper  of 
some  tea-gardens  at  Hampstead  for  the  spot. 

At  the  appointed  time,  attended  by  a  trusty  band  of 
friends,  I  put  them  up  :  and,  when  I  had  taken  a  tolera- 
ble sum  at  the  door,  I  let  them  all  off. 

But  they  did  not  all  profit  by  the  permission.  Some 
went,  but  others  whose  supposed  destination  was  the 
sky,  soared  about  as  high  as  a  house,  then  returned  and 
forgot  their  wild  nature,  and  performed  the  office  of  our 
household  fires  upon  the  clothes  of  my  visitors ;  and 
some  faithful  spirits,  like  old  domestics,  would  not  leave 
their  master  at  any  price  :  would  not  take  their  discharge. 
Then  there  was  a  row,  and  I  should  have  been  mauled, 
but  my  guards  rallied  round  me  and  brought  me  off  with 


50 


JACK  OF  ALL  TKADES. 


whole  bones,  and  marched  back  to  London  with  me, 
quizzing  me  and  drinking  at  my  expense.  The  publican 
refused  to  give  me  my  promised  fee,  and  my  loss  by 
ambition  was  twenty-eight  shillings,  and  my  reputation 
—  if  you  would  call  that  a  loss. 

Was  not  I  quizzed  up  and  down  the  Seven  Dials ! 
Paley  alone  contrived  to  stand  out  in  my  favor.  "  Non- 
sense, a  first  attempt,"  said  he,  "they  mostly  fail:  don't 
you  give  in  for  those  fools  !  I'll  tell  you  a  story.  There 
was  a  chap  in  prison  —  I  forget  his  name  :  he  lived  in 
the  old  times  a  few  hundred  years  ago,  I  can't  justly  say 
how  many  :  he  had  failed  —  at  something  or  other  —  I 
don't  know  how  many  times  —  and  there  he  was.  Well, 
Jack,  one  day  he  notices  a  spider  climbing  up  a  thunder- 
ing great  slippery  stone  in  the  wall.  She  got  a  little  way 
— then  down  she  fell  —  up  again  and  tries  it  on  again  — 
down  again.  Ah,  says  the  man,  you  will  never  do  it.  But 
the  spider  was  game  —  she  got  six  falls,  but,  by  George  ! 
the  seventh  trial  she  got  up.  So  the  gentleman  says, '  A 
man  ought  to  have  as  much  heart  as  a  spider :  I  won't 
give  in  till  the  seventh  trial.'  Bless  you,  long  before 
the  seventh  he  carried  all  before  him,  and  got  to  be  king 
of  England  —  or  something." 

"  King  of  England  ! "  said  I,  "  that  was  a  move  up- 
wards out  of  the  stone  jug." 

"  Well,"  said  Paley  the  hopeful,  "  you  can't  be  king  of 
England  ;  but  you  may  be  the  fire-king,  he  !  he  !  if  you 
are  true  to  powder.  How  much  money  do  you  want  to 
try  again  ?  " 

I  was  nettled  at  my  failure,  and  fired  by  Paley  and  his 
spider,  I  scraped  together  a  few  pounds  once  more,  and 
advertised  a  display  of  fireworks  for  a  certain  Monday 
night. 

On  the  Sunday  afternoon  Paley  and  I  happened  to 
walk  on  the  Hampstead  Road,  and  near  the  Adam  and 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


51 


Eve  we  fell  in  with  an  announcement  of  fireworks.  On 
the  bill  appeared  in  enormous  letters  the  following:  — 

"  No  CONNECTION  WITH  THE  DISGRACEFUL  EXHIBI- 
TION THAT  TOOK  PLACE  LAST  FRIDAY  WEEK  !  " 

Paley  was  in  a  towering  passion.  "  Look  here,  John," 
says  he,  "  but  never  you  mind — it  won't  be  here  long, 
for  I'll  tear  it  down  in  about  half  a  moment." 

"  No,  you  must  not  do  that,"  said  I,  a  little  nervous. 

"  Why  not,  you  poor-spirited  muff  ?  "  shouts  the  little 
fellow  —  "  let  me  alone  —  let  me  get  at  it  —  what  are  you 
holding  me  for  ?  " 

"  No  !  no  !  no  !  well  then  "  — 

"  Well  then,  what  ?  " 

"  Well  then,  it  is  mine." 

"What  is  yours  ?" 

"  That  advertisement." 

"  How  can  it  be  yours  when  it  insults  you  ?  99 
"  Oh  !  business  before  vanity." 

"Well,  I  am  blest!  Here's  a  go  —  look  here  now," 
and  he  began  to  split  his  sides  laughing  ;  but  all  of  a 
sudden  he  turned  awful  grave  ;  "you  will  rise,  my  lad: 
this  is  a  genuine  talent :  they  might  as  well  try  to  keep 
a  balloon  down."  In  short,  my  friend,  who  was  as  hon- 
est as  the  day  in  his  own  sayings  and  doings,  admired 
this  bit  of  rascality  in  me  and  augured  the  happiest 
results. 

That  district  of  London  which  is  called  the  Seven 
Dials  was  now  divided  into  two  great  parties ;  one 
augured  for  me  a  brilliant  success  next  day :  the  other  a 
dead  failure.  The  latter  party  numbered  many  names 
unknown  to  fame :  the  former  consisted  of  Paley.  I 
was  neuter,  distrusting,  not  my  merits,  but  what  I  called 
my  luck. 

On  Monday  afternoon  I  was  busy  putting  out  the  fire* 
works,  nailing  them  to  their  posts,  etc.    Towards  even- 


52 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


ing  it  began  to  rain  so  heavily  that  £hey  had  to  be  taken 
in,  and  the  whole  thing  given  np :  it  was  postponed  to 
Thursday. 

On  Thursday  night  we  had  a  good  assembly  :  the  sum 
taken  at  the  doors  exceeded  my  expectation.  I  had  my 
misgivings  on  account  of  the  rain  that  had  fallen  on  my 
kickshaws  Monday  evening ;  so  I  began  with  those  arti- 
cles I  had  taken  in  first  out  of  the  rain ;  they  went  off 
splendidly,  and  my  personal  friends  were  astounded  ;  but 
soon  my  poverty  began  to  tell :  instead  of  having  many 
hands  to  save  the  fireworks  from  wet,  I  had  been  alone, 
and  of  course  much  time  had  been  lost  in  getting  them 
under  cover ;  we  began  now  to  get  along  the  damp  lot, 
and  science  was  lost  in  chance :  some  would  and  some 
wouldn't,  and  the  people  began  to  goose  me. 

A  rocket  or  two  that  fizzed  themselves  out  without 
rising  a  foot  inflamed  their  angry  passions  :  so  I  an- 
nounced two  fiery  pigeons. 

The  fiery  pigeon  is  a  pretty  firework  enough  :  it  is  of 
the  nature  of  a  rocket,  but  being  on  a  string  it  travels 
backwards  and  forwards  between  two  termini,  to  which 
the  string  is  fixed :  when  there  are  two  strings  and  two 
pigeons,  the  fiery  wings  race  one  another  across  the 
ground,  and  charm  the  gazing  throng.  One  of  my  ter- 
mini was  a  tree  at  the  extremity  of  the  gardens  ;  up  this 
tree  I  mounted  in  my  shirt-sleeves  with  my  birds  :  the 
people  surrounded  the  tree  and  were  dead  silent :  I 
could  see  their  final  verdict,  and  my  fate  hung  on  these 
pigeons ;  I  placed  them  and  with  a  beating  heart  lighted 
their  matches.  To  my  horror  one  did  not  move.  I 
might  as  well  have  tried  to  explode  green  sticks.  The 
other  started  and  went  off  with  great  resolution  and  ac- 
companying cheers  towards  the  opposite  side.  But  mid- 
way it  suddenly  stopped  and  the  cheers  with  it :  it  did 
not  come  to  an  end  all  at  once  j  but  the  fire  oozed  gradu* 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


53 


ally  out  of  it  like  water  —  a  howl  of  derision  was  hurled 
up  into  the  tree  at  me :  but,  worse  than  that,  looking 
down  I  saw  in  the  moonlight  a  hundred  stern  faces  with 
eyes  like  red-hot  emeralds,  in  which  I  read  my  fate : 
they  were  waiting  for  me  to  come  down,  like  terriers  for 
a  rat  in  a  trap,  and  I  felt  by  the  look  of  them  that  they 
would  kill  me  or  near  it ;  I  crept  along  a  bough  the  end 
of  which  cleared  the  wall  and  overhung  the  road :  I  de- 
termined to  break  my  neck  sooner  than  fall  into  the 
hands  of  an  insulted  public.  An  impatient  orange 
whizzed  by  my  ear,  and  an  apple  knocked  my  hat  out  of 
the  premises.  I  crouched  and  clung  —  luckily  I  was  on 
an  ash-bough,  long,  tapering  and  tough ;  it  bent  with  me 
like  a  rainbow.  A  stick  or  two  now  whizzed  past  my 
ear,  and  it  began  to  hail  fruit.  I  held  on  like  grim 
death  till  the  road  was  within  six  feet  of  me,  and  then 
dropped  and  ran  off  home,  like  a  dog  with  a  kettle  at  his 
tail ;  meantime  a  rush  was  made  to  the  gate  to  cut  me 
off ;  but  it  was  too  late  :  the  garden  meandered,  and  rny 
executioners,  when  they  got  to  the  outside,  saw  nothing 
but  a  flitting  spectre :  me  in  my  shirt-sleeves  making  for 
the  Seven  Dials. 

Mr.  and  Miss  Paley  were  seated  by  their  fire,  and,  as 
I  afterwards  learned,  Paley  was  recommending  her  to 
me  for  a  husband,  and  explaining  to  her  at  some  length, 
why  I  was  sure  to  rise  in  the  world,  when  a  figure  in 
shirt-sleeves  begrimed  with  powder,  and  no  hat,  burst 
into  the  room,  and  shrank  without  a  word  into  the  cor- 
ner by  the  fire. 

Miss  Paley  looked  up,  and  then  began  to  look  down 
and  snigger.  Her  father  stared  at  me,  and  after  awhile 
I  could  see  him  set  his  teeth  and  nerve  his  obstinate  old 
heart  for  the  coming  struggle. 

"  Well,  how  did  it  happen  ?  "  said  he,  at  last.  "  Where 
is  your  coat  ?  " 


54 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


I  told  him  the  whole  story. 

Miss  Paley  had  her  hand  to  her  mouth  all  the  time, 
afraid  to  give  vent  to  the  feelings  proper  to  the  occasion 
because  of  her  father. 

"  Now  answer  me  one  question.  Have  you  got  their 
money  ?  "  says  Paley. 

"  Yes,  I  have  got  their  money  for  that  matter." 

"  Well  then,  what  need  you  care  ?  You  are  all  right ; 
and  if  they  had  gone  off  they  would  have  been  all  over 
by  now  just  the  same  :  he  wants  his  supper,  Lucy  — 
give  us  something  hot  to  make  us  forget  our  squibs  and 
crackers,  or  we  shall  die  of  a  broken  heart,  all  of  us 
poor  fainting  souls  —  such  a  calamity !  The  rain  wetted 
them  through  —  that  is  all  —  you  couldn't  fight  against 
the  elements,  could  you  ?    Lay  the  cloth,  girl.'7 

"  But,  Mr.  Paley,"  whined  I,  "  they  have  got  my  new 
coat ;  and  you  may  be  sure  they  have  torn  it  limb  from 
jacket." 

"  Have  they  ?  "  cried  he,  "  well,  that  is  a  comfort  any 
way.  Your  new  coat,  eh  ?  Lucy,  it  hung  on  the  boy's 
back  like  an  old  sack.  Do  you  see  this  bit  of  cloth  ?  I 
shall  make  you  a  Sunday  coat  with  this,  and  then  you'll 
sell.  Fetch  a  quart  to-night,  girl,  instead  of  a  pint :  the 
fire-king  is  going  to  do  us  the  honor.    Che-er  up  !  " 


CHAPTER  III. 

It  was  now  time  that  Miss  Paley  should  suffer  the 
penalty  of  her  sex.  She  was  a  comely,  good-humored, 
and  sensible  girl.  We  used  often  to  walk  out  together 
on  Sundays,  and  very  friendly  we  were.  I  used  to  tell 
her  she  was  the  flower  of  her  sex,  and  she  used  to  laugh 
at  that.    One  Sunday  I  spoke  more  plainly,  and  laid  my 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


55 


heart,  my  thirteen  shillings,  the  fruit  of  my  last  impost- 
ure  on  the  public,  and  my  various  arts,  at  her  feet,  out 
walking. 

A  proposal  of  this  sort,  if  I  may  trust  the  stories  I 
read,  produces  thrilling  effects ;  if  agreeable,  the  ladies 
either  refuse  in  order  to  torment  themselves,  which  act 
of  virtue  justifies  them,  they  think,  in  tormenting  the 
man  they  love,  or  else  they  show  their  rapturous  assent 
by  bursting  out  crying  or  by  fainting  away,  or  their  lips 
turning  cold,  and  other  signs  proper  to  a  disordered 
stomach;  if  it  is  to  be  "no,"  they  are  almost  as  much 
cut  up  about  it,  and  say  no  like  yes,  which  has  the 
happy  result  of  leaving  him  hope  and  prolonging  his 
pain.  Miss  Paley  did  quite  different.  She  blushed  a 
little,  and  smiled  archly,  and  said,  "  Now,  John,  you  and 
I  are  good  friends,  and  I  like  you  very  much  ;  and  I  will 
walk  with  you  and  laugh  with  you  as  much  as  you  like ; 
but  I  have  been  engaged  these  two  years  to  Charles 
Hook,  and  I  love  him,  John." 

"  Do  you,  Lucy  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  under  her  breath  a  bit. 

"Oh!" 

"  So  if  we  are  to  be  friends  you  must  not  put  that 
question  to  me  again,  John.  What  do  you  say  ?  we  are 
to  be  friends,  are  we  not  ? "  And  she  put  out  her 
hand. 

"  Yes,  Lucy." 

"  And,  John,  you  need  not  go  for  to  tell  my  father. 
What  is  the  use  vexing  him  ?  He  has  got  a  notion ; 
but  it  will  pass  away  in  time." 

I  consented,  of  course,  and  Lucy  and  I  were  friends. 

Mr.  Paley  somehow  suspected  which  way  his  daugh- 
ter's heart  turned,  and  not  long  after  a  neighbor  told  me 
he  heard  him  quizzing  her  unmerciful  for  her  bad  judg- 
ment.   As  for  harshness  or  tyranny,  that  was  not  under 


5G 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


his  skin,  as  the  saying  is.  He  wound  up  with  telling 
her  that  John  was  a  man  safe  to  rise. 

"  I  hope  he  may,  father,  I  am  sure,"  says  Lucy. 

"  Well,  and  can't  you  see  he  is  the  man  for  you  ?  " 

"  No,  father,  I  can't  see  that ;  he,  he  I " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

I  don't  think  I  have  been  penniless  not  a  dozen  times 
in  my  life.  When  I  get  down  to  twopence  or  three- 
pence, which  is  very  frequent  indeed,  something  is  apt 
to  turn  up  and  raise  me  to  silver  once  more,  and  there 
I  stick.  But  about  this  time  I  lay  out  of  work  a  long 
time,  and  was  reduced  to  the  lowest  ebb.  In  this  condi- 
tion a  friend  of  mine  took  me  to  the  "  Harp  "  in  Little 
Russell  Street,  to  meet  Mr.  Webb,  the  manager  of  a 
strolling  company.  Mr.  Webb  was  beating  London  for 
recruits  to  complete  his  company  which  lay  at  Bishops 
Stortford,  but  which,  owing  to  desertions,  was  not  numer- 
ous enough  to  massacre  five-act  plays.  I  instantly 
offered  to  go  as  carpenter  and  scene-shifter :  to  this  he 
demurred  —  he  was  provided  with  them  already  —  he 
wanted  actors  ;  to  this  I  objected,  not  that  I  cared  to 
what  sort  of  work  I  turned  my  hand,  but  in  these  com- 
panies a  carpenter  is  paid  for  his  day's  work  according 
to  his  agreement,  but  the  actors  are  remunerated  by  a 
share  in  the  night's  profits,  and  the  profits  are  often 
written  in  the  following  figures  :  £0.  Os.  Od. 

However,  Mr.  Webb  was  firm,  he  had  no  carpenter's 
place  to  offer  me,  so  I  was  obliged  to  lower  my  preten- 
sions. I  agreed  then  to  be  an  actor.  I  was  cast  as 
Father  Philip  in  the  "Iron  Chest  "next  evening.  My 
share  of  the  profits  to  be  one-eighth.    I  borrowed  a 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


57 


shilling,  and  my  friend  Johnstone  and  I  walked  all  the 
way  to  Bishops  Stortf ord.  We  played  the  "  Iron  Chest/7 
and  divided  the  profits.  Hitherto  I  had  been  in  the 
mechanical  arts.  This  was  my  first  step  into  the  fine 
ones.  Father  Philip's  share  of  the  "  Chest "  was  two 
and  a  half  pence. 

Now  this  might  be  a  just  remuneration  for  the  per- 
formance ;  I  almost  think  it  was  :  but  it  left  the  walk, 
thirty  miles,  not  accounted  for. 

The  next  night  I  was  cast  in  "  Jerry  Sneak."  I  had 
no  objection  to  the  part ;  only,  under  existing  circum- 
stances, the  place  to  play  it  seemed  to  me  to  be  the 
road  to  London,  not  the  boards  of  Bishops  Stortford; 
so  I  sneaked  off  towards  the  Seven  Dials.  Johnstone, 
though  cast  for  the  hero,  was  of  Jerry's  mind,  and 
sneaked  away  along  with  him. 

We  had  made  but  twelve  miles  when  the  manager  and 
a  constable  came  up  with  us.  Those  were  peremptory 
days  ;  they  offered  us  our  choice  of  the  fine  arts  again, 
or  prison.  After  a  natural  hesitation  we  chose  the  arts, 
and  were  driven  back  to  them  like  sheep.  Night's 
profits,  fivepence.  In  the  morning  the  whole  company 
dissolved  away  like  a  snowball.  Johnstone  and  I  had 
a  meagre  breakfast  and  walked  on  it  twenty-six  miles. 
He  was  a  stout  fellow  —  shone  in  brigands  —  he  encour- 
aged and  helped  me  along ;  but  at  last  I  could  go  no 
farther. 

My  slighter  frame  was  quite  worn  out  with  hunger 
and  fatigue.  "Leave  me,"  I  said;  "perhaps  some  char- 
itable hand  will  aid  me,  and  if  not,  why  then  I  shall  die  : 
and  I  don't  care  if  I  do ;  for  I  have  lost  all  hope." 

"  Nonsense,"  cried  the  fine  fellow.  "  I'll  carry  you 
home  on  my  back  sooner  than  leave  you  —  die  ?  That 
is  a  word  a  man  should  never  say.  Come,  courage,  only 
four  miles  more." 


58 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


No.  I  could  not  move  from  the  spot.  I  was  what  I 
believe  seldom  really  happens  to  any  man,  dead  beat, 
body  and  soul. 

I  sank  down  on  a  heap  of  stones.  Johnstone  sat 
down  beside  me. 

The  sun  was  just  setting.  It  was  a  bad  lookout. 
Starving  people  to  lie  out  on  stones  all  night.  A  man 
can  stand  cold,  and  he  can  fight  with  hunger :  but  put 
those  two  together,  and  life  is  soon  exhausted. 

At  last  a  rumble  was  heard,  and  presently  an  empty 
coal-wagon  came  up.  A  coal-heaver  sat  on  the  shaft, 
and  another  walked  by  the  side.  Johnstone  went  to 
meet  them — they  stopped  —  I  saw  him  pointing  to  me, 
and  talking  earnestly. 

The  men  came  up  to  me :  they  took  hold  of  me  and 
shot  me  into  the  cart  like  a  hundred- weight  of  coal. 
"  Why,  he  is  starving  with  cold,"  said  one  of  them,  and 
he  flung  half  a  dozen  empty  sacks  over  me,  and  on  we 
went.  At  the  first  public  the  wagon  stopped,  and 
soon  one  of  my  new  friends  with  a  cheerful  voice 
brought  a  pewter  flagon  of  porter  to  me  :  I  sipped  it. 
"Don't  be  afraid  of  it,"  cried  he,  "down  with  it;  it  is 
meat  and  drink,  that  is."  And  indeed  so  I  found  it.  It 
was  a  heavenly  solid  liquid  to  me :  it  was  "  stout "  by 
name,  and  "  stout "  by  nature. 

These  good  fellows,  whom  men  do  right  to  call  black 
diamonds,  carried  me  safe  into  the  Strand,  and  thence, 
being  now  quite  my  own  man  again,  I  reached  the  Seven 
Dials.  Paley  was  in  bed.  He  came  down  directly  in 
his  nightgown,  and  lighted  a  fire  and  pulled  a  piece  of 
cold  beef  out  of  the  cupboard,  and  cheered  me  as  usual, 
but  in  a  fatherly  way  this  time ;  and  of  course  at  my  age 
I  was  soon  all  right  again,  and  going  to  take  the  world 
by  storm  to-morrow  morning.  He  left  me  for  awhile 
and  went  up-stairs  :  presently  he  came  down  again. 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


59 


"Your  bed  is  ready,  John." 

"Why,"  said  I,  "you  have  not  three  rooms." 

"  Lucy  is  on  a  visit,"  said  he  ;  then  he  paused.  "  Stop 
a  bit,  "I'll  warm  your  bed." 

He  took  me  up-stairs  to  my  old  room  and  warmed  the 
bed.  I,  like  a  thoughtless  young  fool,  rolled  into  it,  half 
gone  with  sleep,  and  never  woke  till  ten  next  morning. 

I  don't  know  what  the  reader  will  think  of  me  when 
I  tell  him  that  the  old  man  had  turned  Lucy  out  of  her 
room  into  his  own,  and  sat  all  night  by  the  fire  that  I 
might  lie  soft  after  my  troubles.  Ah  —  he  was  a  bit  of 
steel.  And  have  you  left  me,  and  can  I  share  no  more 
sorrow  or  joy  with  you  in  this  world !  Eh,  dear,  it 
makes  me  misty  to  think  of  the  old  man  —  after  all 
these  years. 


CHAPTER  V. 

I  used  often  to  repair  and  doctor  a  violin  for  a  gent 
whom  I  shall  call  Chaplin :  he  played  in  the  orchestra 
of  the  Adelphi  Theatre.  Mr.  Chaplin  was  not  only  a 
customer  but  a  friend ;  he  saw  how  badly  off  I  was,  and 
had  a  great  desire  to  serve  me  :  now  it  so  happened  that 
Mr.  Yates  the  manager  was  going  to  give  an  entertain- 
ment he  called  his  "  At  Homes,"  and  this  took  but  a 
small  orchestra,  of  which  Mr.  Chaplin  was  to  be  the 
leader :  so  he  was  allowed  to  engage  the  other  instru- 
ments ;  and  he  actually  proposed  to  me  to  be  a  second 
violin. 

I  stared  at  him.    "  How  can  I  do  that  ?  " 
"  Why,  I  often  hear  you  try  a  violin." 
"  Yes,  and  I  always  play  the  same  notes,  perhaps  yon 
have  observed  that  too  ?  " 


60 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


"  I  notice  it  is  always  a  slow  movement  —  eh  ?  Never 
mind,  this  is  the  only  thing  I  can  think  of  to  serve  you 
—  you  must  strum  out  something  —  it  will  be  a  good 
thing  for  you,  you  know." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "if  Mr.  Yates  will  promise  to  sing 
nothing  faster  than  '  Je-ru-sa-lem  my  hap-py  home/ 
I'll  accompany  him." 

No  —  he  would  not  be  laughed  out  of  it.  He  was 
determined  to  put  money  in  my  pocket,  and  would  take 
no  denial.  "  Next  Monday  you  will  have  the  goodness 
to  meet  me  at  the  theatre  at  six  o'clock  with  your  fiddle. 
Play  how  you  like,  play  inaudible  for  what  I  care,  but 
play  and  draw  your  weekly  salary  you  must  and  shall." 

"Play  inaudible."  These  words  sunk  to  the  very 
bottom  of  me.    "  Play  inaudible." 

I  fell  into  a  brown  study ;  it  lasted  three  days  and 
three  nights.  Finally,  to  my  good  patron's  great  con- 
tent, I  consented  to  come  up  to  the  scratch ;  and  Monday 
night  I  had  the  hardihood  to  present  myself  in  the 
music-room  of  the  Adelphi.  My  violin  was  a  ringing 
one,  I  tuned  up  the  loudest  of  them  all,  and  Mr. 
Chaplin's  eye  rested  on  me  with  an  approving  glance. 

Time  was  called.  We  played  an  overture,  and  accom- 
panied Mr.  Yates  in  his  recitatives  and  songs,  and  per- 
formed pieces  and  airs  between  the  acts,  etc.  The 
leader's  eye  often  fell  on  me,  and,  when  it  did,  he  saw 
the  most  conscientious  workman  of  the  crew  ploughing 
every  note  with  singular  care  and  diligence. 

In  this  same  little  orchestra  was  James  Bates,  another 
favorite  of  Mr.  Chaplin,  and  an  experienced  fiddler. 

This  young  man  was  a  great  chum  of  mine.  He  was 
a  fine  honest  young  fellow,  but  of  rather  a  saturnine 
temper.  He  was  not  movable  to  mirth  at  any  price. 
He  would  play  without  a  smile  to  a  new  pantomime  — 
stuck  there  all  night  like  Solomon  cut  in  black  marble 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


61 


with  a  white  choker,  as  solemn  as  a  tomb,  with  hundreds 
laughing  all  around. 

Once  or  twice  while  we  were  at  work  I  saw  Mr. 
Chaplin  look  at  Bates,  knowing  we  two  were  chums, 
and  whenever  he  did  it  seems  the  young  one  bit  his  lips 
and  turned  as  red  as  a  beetroot.  After  the  lights  were 
out  Mr.  Chaplin  congratulated  me  before  Bates. 
"  There,  you  see,  it  is  not  so  very  hard.  Why,  hang 
me,  if  you  did  not  saw  away  as  well  as  the  best !  "  At 
these  words  Bates  gave  a  sort  of  yell,  and  ran  home. 
Mr.  Chaplin  looked  after  him  with  surprise.  "  There's 
some  devil's  delight  up  between  you  two,"  said  he.  "  I 
shall  find  it  out." 

Next  night  in  the  tuning-room  my  fiddle  was  so 
resinant  it  attracted  attention,  and  one  or  two  asked 
leave  to  try  it.    "  Why  not  ?  "  said  I. 

During  work  Mr.  Chaplin  had  one  eye  on  me,  and  one, 
on  Bates,  and  caught  the  perspiration  running  down  my 
face,  and  him  simpering  for  the  first  time  in  the  history 
of  the  Adelphi. 

"  What  has  come  over  Jem  Bates  ?  "  said  Mr.  Chaplin 
to  me.  "  The  lad  is  all  changed.  You  have  put  some  of 
your  late  gunpowder  into  him ;  there  is  something  up 
between  you  two."  After  the  play  he  got  us  together, 
and  he  looked  Bates  in  the  face  and  just  said  to  him, 
"Eh?" 

At  this  wholesale  interrogatory  Bates  laid  hold  of 
himself  tight.  "  No,  Mr.  Chaplin,  sir ;  I  can't.  It  will 
kill  me  when  it  does  come  out  of  me." 

"  When  what  comes  out  ?  You  young  rascals,  if  you 
don't  both  of  you  tell  me,  I'll  break  my  fiddle  over 
Bates,  and  Jack  shall  mend  it  free  of  expense  gratis  for 
nothing.  That  is  how  I'll  serve  mutineers.  Come;  out 
with  it." 

"  Tell  him,  John,"  said  Bates,  demurely. 


62 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


"No,"  said  I,  "tell  him  yourself  if  you  think  it  will 
gratify  him."    I  had  my  doubts. 

"Well,"  said  Bates,  "it  is  ungrateful  to  keep  you  out 
of  it,  sir  —  so  —  he  !  he  !  —  I'll  tell  you,  sir  —  this  second 
violin  has  two  bows  in  his  violin-case." 

"Well,  stupid,  what  is  commoner  than  that  for  a 
fiddler  ?  " 

"  But  this  is  not  a  fiddler,"  squeaked  Bates,  "  he's  only 
a  bower.    Oh,  oh,  oh ! " 
"  Only  a  bower  ?  " 

"No!  Oh!  Oh!  I  shall  die,  it  will  kill  me."  I 
gave  a  sort  of  ghastly  grin  myself. 

"  You  unconscionable  scoundrels  ! "  shouted  Mr.  Chap- 
lin. "  There,  look  at  this  Bates,  he  is  at  it  again,  a  fellow 
that  the  very  clown  could  never  raise  a  laugh  out  of, 
and  now  I  see  him  all  night  smirking  and  grinning  and 
looking  down  like  a  jackdaw  that  has  got  his  claw  on  a 
thimble.  If  you  don't  speak  out,  I'll  knock"  your  two 
tormenting  skulls  together  till  they  roll  off  down  the 
gutter  side  by  side,  chuckling  and  giggling  all  day  and 
all  night."  At  this  direful,  mysterious  threat,  Bates 
composed  himself.  "  The  power  is  all  out  of  my  body, 
sir,  so  now  I  can  tell  you." 

He  then  in  faint  tones  gave  this  explanation,  which 
my  guilty  looks  confirmed.  "  One  of  his  bows  is  resined, 
sir ;  that  one  is  the  tuner.  I  don't  know  whether  you 
have  observed,  but  he  tunes  rather  louder  than  any  two 
of  us.    Oh,  dear,  it  is  coming  again." 

"  Don't  be  a  fool  now.    Yes,  I  have  noticed  that." 

"  The  other  bow,  Mr.  Chaplin,  sir,  the  other  bow  is 
soaped,  well  soaped,  sir,  for  orchestral  use.    Ugh.  Ugh." 

"  Oh,  the  varmint ! " 

Bates  continued.  "  You  take  a  look  at  him,  you  see 
him  fingering  and  bowing  like  mad,  but  as  for  sound, 
you  know  what  a  greasy  bow  is  ?  " 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


03 


"  Of  course  I  do.  I  don't  wonder  at  your  laughing — 
ha,  ha,  ha !  Oh,  the  thief !  when  I  think  of  his  diligent 
face  and  him  shaking  his  right  wrist  like  Viotti." 

"  Mind  your  pockets  though,  he  knows  too  much." 

It  was  now  my  turn  to  speak.  "  I  am  glad  you  like 
the  idea,  sir,"  said  I,  "  for  it  comes  from  you." 

"  How  can  you  say  that  ?  " 

"What  did  you  tell  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  tell  you  to  do  that.  I  don't  remember  what 
I  told  him,  Bates,  not  to  the  letter." 

"  Told  me  to  play  inaudible  ! " 

"  Well,  I  never,"  said  Mr.  Chaplin. 

"  Those  were  your  words,  sir ;  they  did  not  fall  to  the 
ground,  you  see." 

My  position  in  this  orchestra  and  the  situations  that 
arose  out  of  it  were  meat  and  drink  to  my  two  friends. 
With  the  gentry,  whose  lives  are  a  succession  of  amuse- 
ments, a  joke  soon  wears  out,  no  doubt ;  but  we  poor 
fellows  can't  let  one  go  cheap.  How  do  we  know  how 
long  it  may  be  before  Heaven  sends  us  another  ?  A 
joke  falling  among  us  is  like  a  rat  in  a  kennel  of 
terriers. 

At  intricate  passages  the  first  violin  used  to  look  at 
the  tenor  and  then  at  me,  and  wink,  and  they  both 
swelled  with  innocent  enjoyment,  till  at  last  unknown 
powers  of  gayety  budded  in  Bates :  with  quizzing  his 
friend  he  learned  to  take  a  jest ;  so  much  so  that  one 
night,  Mr.  Yates  being  funnier  than  usual  if  possible,  a 
single  horse-laugh  suddenly  exploded  among  the  fiddles. 
This  was  Bates  gone  off  all  in  a  moment  after  his  trigger 
being  pulled  so  many  years  to  no  purpose.  Mr.  Yates 
looked  down  with  gratified  surprise. 

"Halloo  !  Brains  got  in  the  orchestra;  after  that  any- 
thing ! " 

But  do  you  think  it  was  fun  to  me,  all  this  ?    I  declare 


64 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


I  suffered  the  torture  of  the  —  you  know  what.  I  never 
felt  safe  a  moment.  I  had  placed  myself  next  to  an  old 
fiddler  who  was  deaf,  but  he  somehow  smelt  at  times 
that  I  was  shirking,  and  then  he  used  to  cry,  "  Pull  out, 
pull  out,  you  don't  pull  out." 

"  How  can  you  say  so  ?  "  I  used  to  reply,  and  then  saw 
away  like  mad  :  when,  so  connected  are  the  senses  of 
sight  and  hearing  apparently,  the  old  fellow  used  to 
smile  and  be  at  peace.  He  saw  me  pull,  and  so  he  heard 
me  pull  out.  Then  sometimes  friends  of  the  other  per- 
formers would  be  in  the  orchestra,  and  peep  over  me 
and  say  civil  things,  and  I  wish  them  further,  civilities 
and  all.  But  it  is  a  fact  that  for  two  months  I  gesticu- 
lated in  that  orchestra  without  a  soul  finding  out  that  I 
was  not  suiting  the  note  to  the  action. 

At  last  we  broke  up,  to  my  great  relief,  but  I  did  not 
leave  the  theatre.  Mr.  Widger,  Mr.  Yates's  dresser,  got 
me  a  place  behind  the  scenes  at  nine  shillings  per  week. 

I  used  to  dress  Mr.  Eeeve  and  run  for  his  brandies 
and  waters,  which  kept  me  on  the  trot,  and  do  odd  jobs. 

But  I  was  now  to  make  the  acquaintance  that  colored 
all  my  life,  or  the  cream  of  it.  My  time  was  come  to 
move  in  a  wider  circle  of  men  and  things,  and  really  to 
do  what  so  many  fancy  they  have  done  —  to  see  the 
world. 

In  the  month  of  April,  1828,  Mr.  Yates,  theatrical 
manager,  found  his  nightly  receipts  fall  below  his  nightly 
expenses.  In  this  situation  a  manager  falls  upon  one  of 
two  things ;  a  spectacle  or  a  star.  Mr.  Yates  preferred 
the  latter,  and  went  over  to  Paris  and  engaged  Made- 
moiselle Djek. 

Mademoiselle  Djek  was  an  elephant  of  great  size,  and 
unparalleled  sagacity.  She  had  been  for  some  time  per- 
forming in  a  play  at  Franconi's,  and  created  a  great 
sensation  in  Paris. 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


65 


Of  her  previous  history  little  is  known.  But  she  was 
first  landed  from  the  East  in  England,  and  was  shown 
about  merely  as  an  elephant  by  her  proprietor,  an  Italian 
called  Polito.  The  Frenchmen  first  found  out  her  talent. 
Her  present  owner  was  a  M.  Huguet,  and  with  him  Mr. 
Yates  treated.  She  joined  the  Adelphi  company  at  a 
salary  of  forty  pounds  a  week  and  her  grub. 

There  was  great  expectation  in  the  theatre  for  some 
days;  the  play  in  which  she  was  to  perform  "The 
Elephant  of  the  King  of  Siam,"  was  cast  and  rehearsed 
several  times  j  a  wooden  house  was  built  for  her  at  the 
back  of  the  stage,  and  one  fine  afternoon  sure  enough  she 
arrived  with  all  her  train,  one  or  two  of  each  nation  ;  viz., 
her  owner,  M.  Huguet  (French),  her  principal  keeper, 
Tom  Elliot  (English),  her  subordinates,  Bernard  (French), 
and  an  Italian  nicknamed  Pippin.  She  arrived  at  the 
stage-door  in  Maiden  Lane,  and  soon  after  the  messenger 
was  sent  to  Mr.  Yates's  house. 

"Elephant's  come,  sir." 

"  Well,  let  them  put  her  in  the  place  built  for  her,  and 
I'll  come  and  see  her." 
"They  can't  do  that,  sir." 
"Why  not?" 

"La  bless  you,  sir,  she  might  get  her  foot  into  the 
theatre  :  but  how  is  her  body  to  come  through  the  stage- 
door  ?  why,  she  is  almost  as  big  as  the  house." 

Down  comes  Mr.  Yates,  and  there  was  the  elephant 
standing  all  across  Maiden  Lane  —  all  traffic  interrupted 
except  what  could  pass  under  her  belly  —  and  such  a 
crowd,  my  eye ! 

Mr.  Yates  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets  and  took  a 
quiet  look  at  the  state  of  affairs. 

"  You  must  make  a  hole  in  the  wall,"  said  he. 

Pickaxes  went  to  work  and  made  a  hole  or  rather  a 
frightful  chasm  in  the  theatre,  and  when  it  looked  about 


66 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


two-thirds  her  size,  Elliot  said,  "  Stop  !  "  He  then  gave 
her  a  sharp  order,  and  the  first  specimen  we  saw  of  her 
cleverness  was  her  doubling  herself  together  and  creep- 
ing in  through  that  hole,  bending  her  fore-knees,  and 
afterwards  rising  and  dragging  her  hind-legs  horizontally, 
and  so  she  disappeared  like  an  enormous  mole  burrowing 
into  the  theatre. 

Mademoiselle  Djek's  bills  were  posted  all  over  the 
town,  and  everything  done  to  make  her  take,  and  on  the 
following  Tuesday  the  theatre  was  pretty  well  filled  by 
the  public  ;  the  manager  also  took  care  to  have  a  strong 
party  in  the  pit.  In  short,  she  was  nursed  as  other  stars 
are  upon  their  debut. 

Night  came :  all  was  anxiety  behind  the  lights  and 
expectation  in  front. 

The  green  curtain  drew  up,  and  Mr.  Yates  walked  on 
in  black  dress-coat  and  white  kid  gloves,  like  a  private 
gentleman  just  landed  out  of  a  bandbox  at  the  Queen's 
ball.  He  was  the  boy  to  talk  to  the  public  :  soft  sawder, 
dignified  reproach,  friendly  intercourse,  he  had  them 
all  at  his  fingers'  ends.  This  time  it  was  the  easy  tone 
of  refined  conversation  upon  the  intelligent  creature  he 
was  privileged  to  introduce  to  them.  I  remember  his 
discourse  as  well  as  if  it  was  yesterday. 

"The  elephant,"  said  Mr.  Yates,  "is  a  marvel  of 
nature.  We  are  iioav  to  have  the  pleasure  of  showing 
her  to  you  as  taking  her  place  in  art."  Then  he  praised 
the  wisdom  and  beneficence  of  creation.  "Among  the 
small  animals,  such  as  cats  and  men,  there  is  to  be 
found  such  a  thing  as  spite  ;  treachery  ditto,  and  love  of 
mischief,  and  even  cruelty  at  odd  times :  but  here  is  a 
creature  with  the  power  to  pull  down  our  houses  about 
our  ears  like  Samson,  but  a  heart  that  will  not  let  her 
hurt  a  fly.  Properly  to  appreciate  her  moral  character 
consider  what  a  thing  power  is,  see  how  it  tries  us,  how 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


67 


often  in  history  it  has  turned  men  to  demons.  The  ele- 
phant," added  he,  "  is  the  friend  of  man  by  choice,  not 
by  necessity  or  instinct :  it  is  born  as  wild  as  a  lion  or 
buffalo,  but  the  moment  an  opportunity  arrives,  its  kin- 
dred intelligence  allies  it  to  man,  its  only  superior  or 
equal  in  reasoning  power.  We  are  about,"  said  Mr. 
Yates,  "  to  present  a  play  in  which  an  elephant  will  act 
a  part,  and  yet  act  but  herself,  for  the  intelligence  and 
affectionate  disposition  she  will  display  on  these  boards 
as  an  actress  are  merely  her  own  private  and  domestic 
qualities.  Not  every  one  of  us  actors,  gentlemen,  can 
say  as  much." 

Then  there  was  a  laugh  in  which  Mr.  Yates  joined. 
In  short,  Mr.  Yates,  who  could  play  upon  the  public  ear 
better  than  some  fiddles  (I  name  no  names),  made  his 
debutante  popular  before  ever  she  stepped  upon  the 
scene.  He  then  bowed  with  intense  gratitude  to  the 
audience  for  the  attention  they  had  honored  him  with, 
retired  to  the  prompter's  side,  and,  as  he  reached  it,  the 
act  drop  flew  up  and  the  play  began :  it  commenced 
on  two  legs  :  the  .  elephant  did  not  come  on  until  the 
second  scene  of  the  act. 

The  drama  was  a  good  specimen  of  its  kind :  it  was  a 
story  of  some  interest  and  length  and  variety,  and  the 
writer  had  been  sharp  enough  not  to  make  the  elephant 
too  common  in  it ;  she  came  on  only  three  or  four  times, 
and  always  at  a  nick  of  time,  and  to  do  good  business 
—  as  theatricals  say,  i.e.,  for  some  important  purpose  in 
the  story. 

A  king  of  Siam  had  lately  died,  and  the  elephant  was 
seen  taking  her  part  in  the  funeral  obsequies.  She  de- 
posited his  sceptre,  etc.,  in  the  tomb  of  his  fathers,  and 
was  seen  no  more  in  that  act.  The  rightful  heir  to  this 
throne  was  a  young  prince  to  whom  the  elephant  be- 
longed.   An  usurper  opposed  him,  and  a  battle  took 


68 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


place,  the  rightful  heir  was  worsted  and  taken  prisoner, 
the  usurper  condemned  him  to  be  thrown  into  the  sea. 
In  the  next  act,  this  sentence  was  being  executed :  four 
men  were  discovered  passing  through  a  wood  carrying 
no  end  of  a  box.  Suddenly  a  terrific  roar  was  heard, 
the  men  put  down  the  box  rather  more  carefully  than 
they  would  in  real  life,  and  fled,  and  the  elephant  walked 
on  to  the  scene  alone  like  any  other  actress.  She  smelt 
about  the  box,  and  presently  tore  it  open  with  her  pro- 
boscis, and  there  was  her  master,  the  rightful  heir,  but 
in  a  sad  exhausted  state.  When  the  good  soul  sees  this 
what  does  she  do  but  walk  to  the  other  side  and  tear 
down  the  bough  of  a  fruit-tree  and  hand  it  to  the  suf- 
ferer :  he  sucked  it,  and  it  had  the  effect  of  stout  on 
him  —  it  made  a  man  of  him,  and  they  marched  away 
together,  the  elephant  trumpeting  to  show  her  satisfac- 
tion. 

In  the  next  act  the  rightful  heir's  friends  were  dis- 
covered behind  the  bars  of  a  prison  at  a  height  from  the 
ground.  The  order  for  their  execution  arrived,  and  they 
were  down  upon  their  luck  terribly.  In  marched  the 
elephant,  tore  out  the  iron  bars,  and  squeezed  herself 
against  the  wall  half-squatting  in  the  shape  of  a  tri- 
angle :  so  then  the  prisoners  glided  down  her  to  the 
ground  slantindicular  one  after  another. 

When  the  civil  war  had  lasted  long  enough  to  sicken 
both  sides,  and  enough  widows  and  orphans  had  been 
made,  the  Siamese  began  to  ask  themselves,  "  But  what 
is  it  all  about  ?  "  The  next  thing  was,  they  said,  "  What 
asses  we  have  been !  Was  there  no  other  way  of  deciding 
between  two  men  but  bleeding  the  whole  tribe  ?  "  Then 
they  reflected  and  said,  "We  are  asses,  that  is  clear; 
but  we  hear  there  is  one  animal  in  the  nation  that  is  not 
an  ass  :  why  of  course,  then,  she  is  the  one  to  decide 
our  dispute."    Accordingly  a  grand  assembly  was  held, 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


69 


the  rival  claimants  were  compelled  to  attend,  and  the 
elephant  was  led  in.  Then  the  high  priest,  or  some 
such  article,  having  first  implored  Heaven  to  speak 
through  the  quadruped,  bade  her  decide  according  to 
justice.  No  sooner  were  the  words  out  of  his  mouth 
than  the  elephant  stretched  out  her  proboscis,  seized  a 
little  crown  that  glittered  on  the  usurper's  head,  and, 
waving  it  gracefully  in  the  air,  deposited  it  gently  and 
carefully  on  the  brows  of  the  rightful  heir.  So  then 
there  was  a  rush  made  on  the  wrongful  heir,  he  was 
taken  out  guarded  and  warned  off  the  premises :  the 
rightful  heir  mounted  the  throne  and  grinned  and  bowed 
all  round,  the  elephant  trumpeted,  Siam  hurrahed, 
Djek's  party  in  the  house  echoed  the  sound,  and  down 
came  the  curtain  in  thunders  of  applause.  Though  the 
curtain  was  down,  the  applause  continued  most  vehe- 
mently, and  after  awhile  a  cry  arose  at  the  back  of  the 
pit,  "  Elephant,  elephant !  "  That  part  of  the  audience 
that  had  paid  at  the  door  laughed  at  this,  but  their 
laughter  turned  to  curiosity  when  in  answer  to  the  cry 
the  curtain  was  raised,  and  the  stage  discovered  empty. 
Curiosity  in  turn  gave  way  to  surprise ;  for  the  elephant 
walked  on  from  the  third  grooves  alone,  and  came  slap 
down  to  the  float.  At  this,  the  astonished  public  liter- 
ally roared  at  her.  But  how  can  I  describe  the  effect, 
the  amazement,  when,  in  return  for  the  compliment,  the 
debutante  slowly  bent  her  knees  and  courtesied  twice  to 
the  British  public,  and  then  retired  backwards  as  the 
curtain  once  more  fell  ?  People  looked  at  one  another 
and  seemed  to  need  to  read  in  their  neighbor's  eyes 
whether  such  a  thing  was  real ;  and  then  followed  that 
buzz  which  tells  the  knowing  ones  behind  the  curtain 
that  the  nail  has  gone  home,  that  the  theatre  will  be 
crammed  to  the  ceiling  to-morrow  night,  and  perhaps 
for  eighty  nights  after. 


70 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


Mr.  Yates  fed  Mademoiselle  Djek  with  his  own  hand 
that  night,  crying,  "  Oh,  you  duck  !  " 

The  fortunes  of  the  Adelphi  rose  from  that  hour  — 
full  houses  without  intermission. 

Mr.  Yates  shortened  his  introductory  address,  and 
used  to  make  it  a  brief,  neat,  and  I  think  elegant  eulogy 
of  her  gentleness  and  affectionate  disposition ;  her  talent 
"  the  public  are  here  to  judge  for  themselves,"  said  Mr. 
Yates,  and  exit  P.  S. 

A  theatre  is  a  little  world;  and  Djek  soon  became  the 
hero  of  ours.  Everybody  must  have  a  passing  peep  at 
the  star  that  was  keeping  the  theatre  open  all  summer, 
and  providing  bread  for  a  score  or  two  of  families  con- 
nected with  it.  Of  course  a  mind  like  mine  was  not 
among  the  least  inquisitive.  But  her  head  keeper  Tom 
Elliot,  a  surly  fellow,  repulsed  our  attempts  to  scrape 
acquaintance.  "  Mind  your  business,  and  I'll  mind 
mine,"  was  his  chant.  He  seemed  to  be  wonderfully 
jealous  of  her.  He  could  not  forbid  Mr.  Yates  to  visit 
her,  as  he  did  us,  but  he  always  insisted  on  being  one  of 
the  party  even  then.  He  puzzled  us  :  but  the  strongest 
impression  he  gave  us  was  that  he  was  jealous  of  her ; 
afraid  she  would  get  as  fond  of  some  others  as  of  him, 
and  so  another  man  might  be  able  to  work  her,  and  his 
own  nose  lose  a  joint  as  the  saying  is  ;  later  on  we 
learned  to  put  a  different  interpretation  on  his  conduct. 
Pippin  the  Italian,  and  Bernard  the  Frenchman,  used  to 
serve  her  with  straw  and  water,  etc.,  but  it  was  quite  a 
different  thing  from  Elliot.  They  were  like  a  fine  lady's 
grooms  and  running  footmen,  but  Elliot  was  her  body- 
servant,  groom  of  the  bed-chamber,  or  what  not.  He 
used  always  to  sleep  in  the  straw  close  to  her :  some- 
times, when  he  was  drunk,  he  would  roll  in  between  her 
legs,  and  if  she  had  not  been  more  careful  of  him  than 
any  other  animal  ever  was  (especially  himself),  she  must 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


71 


have  crushed  him  to  death  three  nights  in  the  week. 
Next  to  Elliot,  but  a  long  way  below  him,  M.  Huguet 
seemed  her  favorite.  He  used  to  come  into  her  box  and 
caress  her  and  feed  her  and  make  much  of  her :  but  she 
never  went  on  the  stage  without  Elliot  in  sight,  and  in 
point  of  fact  all  she  did  upon  our  stage  was  done  at  a 
word  of  command  given  then  and  there  at  the  side  by 
this  man  and  no  other  —  going  down  to  the  float  — 
courtesying  and  all. 

Being  mightily  curious  to  know  how  he  had  gained 
such  influence  with  her,  I  made  several  attempts  to 
sound  him,  but  drunk  or  sober  he  was  equally  unfathom- 
able on  this  point. 

I  then  endeavored  to  slake  my  curiosity  at  No.  2.  I 
made  bold  to  ask  M.  Huguet  how  he  had  won  her  affec- 
tions. The  Frenchman  was  as  communicative  as  the 
native  was  reserved :  he  broke  plenty  of  English  over 
me  :  it  came  to  this,  that  the  strongest  feeling  of  an 
elephant  was  gratitude,  and  that  he  had  worked  on  this 
for  years ;  was  always  kind  to  her,  and  seldom  ap- 
proached her  without  giving  her  lumps  of  sugar  — 
carried  a  pocket  full  on  purpose.  This  tallied  with 
what  I  had  heard  and  read  of  an  elephant :  still  the 
problem  remained,  why  is  she  fonder  still  of  this  Tom 
Elliot,  whose  manner  is  not  ingratiating,  and  who  never 
speaks  to  her  but  in  a  harsh,  severe  voice  ? 

She  stood  my  friend  any  way :  a  good  many  new 
supers  were  engaged  to  play  with  her,  and  I  was  set 
over  these,  looked  out  their  dresses,  and  went  on  with 
them  and  her  as  a  slave :  nine  shillings  a  week  for  this 
was  added  to  my  other  nine,  which  I  drew  for  dressing 
an  actor  or  two  of  the  higher  class. 

The  more  I  was  about  her  the  more  I  felt  that  we  were 
not  at  the  bottom  of  this  quadruped,  nor  even  of  her 
bipeds.  There  were  gestures  and  glances  and  shrugs 
always  passing  to  and  fro  among  them. 


72 


jack  :  f  all  ilai  els. 


One  day  at  the  rehearsal  of  a  farce  there  was  no  Mr. 
Yates.    Somebody  inquired  loudly  for  him. 

Hush."  says  another,  "  haven't  you  heard  ?  n 
"No." 

u  Ton  mustn't  talk  of  it  out  of  doors." 

"Mo!" 

••  Half  killed  by  the  elephant  this  morning." 

It  seems  he  was  feeding  and  coaxing  her.  as  he  had 
often  done  before,  when  all  in  a  moment  she  laid  hold  of 
him  with  her  trunk,  and  gave  him  a  squeeze.  He  lay  in 
bed  six  weeks  with  it.  and  there  was  nobody  to  deliver 
her  eulogy  at  night.    Elliot  was  at  the  other  end  of  the 

ST.iCr  ~Lr7.  7Lr  ZLL.irLZ  L2.ZZ~7.ri.      Hr  Lr2.IL  Mr.  Yit-S 

cry  out.  and  ran  in.  and  the  elephant  let  Mr.  Yates  go, 


wanted  to  caress  so  kind  a  manager,  who  was  always 
feeding  and  courting  her,  and  had  embraced  him  too 

The  play  went  on.  and  the  elephants  reputation 
increased.  But  her  popularity  was  destined  to  receive 
a  shock,  as  far  as  we  little  ones  behind  the  curtain  were 
CLiLZLr 

One  day,  while  Pippin  was  spreading  her  straw,  she 


kzilkri    'ZLLL    i:-WTL    ~LL    LrZ    ZLL1L.    ZLL'l    ZZrSSlLZ  LrZ 

tooth  against  him,  bored  two  frightful  holes  in  his  skull, 
before  Elliot  could  interfere.  Pippin  was  carried  to  St. 
Go  r  ise's  H: si — e  c-rgsz.  ::  L:ok  .l  :Lr  workers 

Pippin's  situation  was  in  the  market. 

One  or  two  declined  it.    It  came  down  to  me.  I 

Z-.LrL.ii.  }.Li  ?L:rZZri   17         fiHOtkrl  111:    sklkkngS.  tOtal 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


73 


That  night  two  supers  turned  tail.  An  actress  also, 
whose  name  I  have  forgotten,  refused  to  go  on  with  her. 
"  I  was  not  engaged  to  play  with  a  brute,"  said  this 
lady,  "  and  I  won't."  Others  went  on  as  usual,  but 
were  not  so  sweet  on  it  as  before.  The  rightful  heir 
lost  all  relish  for  his  part,  and  above  all,  when  his  turn 
came  to  be  preserved  from  harm  by  her,  I  used  to  hear 
him  crying  out  of  the  box  to  Elliot,  "  Are  you  there  ? 
are  you  sure  you  are  there  ?  99  and,  when  she  tore  open 
his  box,  Garrick  never  acted  better  than  this  one  used 
to  now ;  for  you  see  his  cue  was  to  exhibit  fear  and  ex- 
haustion, and  he  did  both  to  the  life,  because  for  the  last 
five  minutes  he  had  been  thinking,  "  Oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear ! 
suppose  she  should  do  the  foot  business  on  my  box, 
instead  of  the  proboscis  business." 

These,  however,  were  vain  fears :  she  made  no  mistake 
before  the  public. 

Nothing  lasts  forever  in  this  world,  and  the  time  came 
that  she  ceased  to  fill  the  house.  Then  Mr.  Yates  re- 
engaged her  for  the  provinces,  and,  having  agreed  with 
the  country  managers,  sent  her  down  to  Bath  and  Bristol 
first.  He  had  a  good  opinion  of  me,  and  asked  me  to 
go  with  her  and  watch  his  interests.  I  should  not  cer- 
tainly have  applied  for  the  place,  but  it  was  not  easy  to 
say  no  to  Mr.  Yates,  and  I  felt  I  owed  him  some  repara- 
tion for  the  wrong  I  had  done  that  great  artist  in 
accompanying  his  voice  with  my  gestures. 

In  short,  we  started,  Djek,  Elliot,  Bernard,  I,  and 
Pippin,  on  foot  (he  was  just  out  of  St.  George's). 
Messrs.  Huguet  and  Yates  rolled  in  their  carriage  to 
meet  us  at  the  principal  towns  where  we  played. 

As  we  could  not  afford  to  make  her  common,  our 
walking  was  all  night-work,  and  introduced  me  to  a 
rough  life. 

The  average  of  night  weather  is  wetter  and  windiei 


74 


JACK  OF  ALL  TEADES. 


than  day,  and  many  a  vile  night  we  tramped  through 
when  wise  men  were  abed  ;  and  we  never  knew  for  cer- 
tain where  we  should  pass  the  night :  for  it  depended 
on  Djek.  She  was  so  enormous  that  half  the  inns  could 
not  find  us  a  place  big  enough  for  her.  Our  first  evening 
stroll  was  to  Bath  and  Bristol :  thence  we  crossed  to 
Dublin,  thence  we  returned  to  Plymouth.  We  walked 
from  Plymouth  to  Liverpool,  playing  with  good  success 
at  all  these  places.  At  Liverpool  she  laid  hold  of  Ber- 
nard, and  would  have  settled  his  hash,  but  Elliot  came 
between  them. 

That  same  afternoon  in  walks  a  young  gentleman 
dressed  in  the  height  of  Parisian  fashion,  —  glossy  hat, 
satin  tie,  trousers  puckered  at  the  haunches,  —  sprucer 
than  any  poor  Englishman  will  be  while  the  world  lasts ; 
and  who  was  it  but  Monsieur  Bernard  come  to  take  leave. 
We  endeavored  to  dissuade  him :  he  smiled  and  shook 
his  head,  treated  us,  flattered  us,  and  showed  us  his 
preparations  for  France. 

All  that  day  and  the  next  he  sauntered  about  us, 
dressed  like  a  gentleman,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
and  an  ostentatious  neglect  of  his  late  affectionate 
charge.  Before  he  left  he  invited  me  to  drink  some- 
thing at  his  expense,  and  was  good  enough  to  say  I  was 
what  he  most  regretted  leaving. 

"  Then  why  go  ?  "  said  I. 

"  I  will  tell  you,  monpauvre  gargon"  said  Monsieur  Ber- 
nard. "  We  old  hands  have  all  got  our  orders  to  say  she 
is  a  duck.  Ah !  you  have  found  that  out  of  yourself. 
Well,  now,  as  I  have  done  with  her,  I  will  tell  you  a 
part  of  her  character,  for  I  know  her  well.  Once  she 
injures  you  she  can  never  forgive  you.  So  long  as  she 
has  never  hurt  you,  there's  a  fair  chance  she  never  will. 
I  have  been  about  her  for  years,  and  she  never  molested 
me  till  yesterday.    But  —  if  she  once  attacks  a  man, 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


75 


that  man's  death-warrant  is  signed  —  I  can't  altogether 
account  for  it :  but  trust  my  experience  it  is  so.  I 
would  have  stayed  with  you  all  my  life  if  she  had  not 
shown  me  my  fate  ;  but  not  now  :  merci  /  I  have  a  wife 
and  two  children  in  France.  I  have  saved  some  money 
out  of  her :  I  return  to  the  bosom  of  my  family  :  and  if 
Pippin  stays  with  her  after  the  hint  she  gave  him  in 
London,  why,  you  will  see  the  death  of  Pippin,  my  lad, 
voila  tout,  that  is,  if  you  don't  go  first.  Qu'est  que  ga 
te  fait  a  la  fin  ?  tu  es  gargon  toi  —  buvons  !  " 

The  next  day  he  left  us,  and  left  me  sad  for  one.  The 
quiet  determination  with  which  he  acted  upon  positive 
experience  of  her  was  enough  to  make  a  man  thoughtful. 
And  then  Bernard  was  the  flower  of  us :  he  was  the 
drop  of  mirth  and  gayety  in  our  iron  cup.  He  was  a 
pure,  unadulterated  Frenchman,  and  to  be  just  —  where 
can  you  find  anything  so  delightful  as  a  Frenchman  — 
of  the  right  sort  ? 

He  fluttered  home  singing 

"  Les  doux  yeux  de  ma  brunet — te, 
Tout — e  mignonett — e,  tout — e  gentillett — e," 

and  left  us  all  in  black. 

God  bless  you,  my  merry  fellow.  I  hope  you  found 
your  children  healthy,  and  your  brunette  true  and  your 
friends  alive,  and  that  the  world  is  just  to  you,  and 
smiles  on  you,  as  you  do  on  it,  and  did  on  us. 

From  Liverpool  we  walked  to  Glasgow  :  from  Glasgow 
to  Edinburgh :  and  from  Edinburgh,  on  a  cold  starry 
midnight  we  started  for  Newcastle. 

In  this  interval  of  business  let  me  paint  you  my  com- 
panions Pippin  and  Elliot.  The  reader  is  entitled  to 
this,  for  there  must  have  been  something  out  of  the 
common  in  their  looks,  since  I  was  within  an  ace  of 


76 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


being  killed  along  of  the  Italian's  face,  and  was  impris- 
oned four  days  through  the  Englishman's  mug. 

The  Italian  whom  we  know  by  the  nickname  of  Pippin 
was  a  man  of  immense  stature  and  athletic  mould.  His 
face,  once  seen,  would  never  be  forgotten.  His  skin, 
almost  as  swarthy  as  Othello's,  was  set  off  by  dazzling 
ivory  teeth,  and  lighted  by  two  glorious  large  eyes,  black 
as  jet,  brilliant  as  diamonds  :  the  orbs  of  black  lightning 
gleamed  from  beneath  eyebrows  that  many  a  dandy 
would  have  bought  for  mustaches  at  a  high  valuation. 
A  nose  like  a  reaping-hook  completed  him  —  perch  him 
on  a  tolerable-sized  rock,  and  there  you  had  a  black 
eagle. 

As  if  this  was  not  enough,  Pippin  would  always  wear 
a  conical  hat,  and  had  he  but  stepped  upon  the  stage  in 
"  Massaniello  "  or  the  like,  all  the  other  brigands  would 
have  sunk  down  to  rural  police  by  the  side  of  our  man. 
But  now  comes  the  absurdity :  his  inside  was  not  differ- 
ent from  his  out,  it  was  the  exact  opposite.  You  might 
turn  over  twenty  thousand  bullet  heads  and  bolus  eyes, 
before  you  could  find  one  man  so  thoroughly  harmless 
as  this  thundering  brigand.  He  was  just  a  pet,  an  uni- 
versal pet,  of  all  the  men  and  women  that  came  near  him. 
He  had  the  disposition  of  a  dove  and  the  heart  of  a  hare. 
He  was  a  lamb  in  wolf's  clothing. 

My  next  portrait  is  not  so  pleasing. 

A  MAN  TURNED  BRUTE. 

Some  ten  years  before  this,  a  fine,  stout  young  Eng- 
lish rustic  entered  the  service  of  Mademoiselle  Djek. 
He  was  a  model  for  bone  and  muscle,  and  had  two 
cheeks  like  roses  :  when  he  first  went  to  Paris  he  was 
looked  on  as  a  curiosity  there.  People  used  to  come  to 
Djek's  stable  to  see  her  and  Elliot,  the  young  English 
Samson.    Just  ten  years  after  this  young  Elliot  had  got 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


77 


to  be  called  "  old  Elliot."  His  face  was  not  only  pale, 
it  was  colorless ;  it  was  the  face  of  a  walking  corpse. 
This  came  of  ten  years'  brandy  and  brute.  I  have  often 
asked  people  to  guess  the  man's  age,  and  they  always 
guessed  sixty,  sixty-five,  or  seventy,  oftenest  the  latter. 

He  was  thirty-five,  not  a  day  more. 

This  man's  mind  had  come  down  along  with  his  body. 

He  understood  nothing  but  elephant,  he  seldom 
talked,  and  then  nothing  but  elephant.  He  was  an 
elephant-man.  I  will  give  you  an  instance  which  I 
always  thought  curious. 

An  elephant,  you  may  have  observed,  cannot  stand 
quite  still.  The  great  weight  of  its  head  causes  a  nod- 
ding movement,  which  is  perpetual  when  the  creature 
stands  erect.  Well,  this  Tom  Elliot,  when  he  stood  up, 
used  always  to  have  one  foot  advanced,  and  his  eye  half 
closed,  and  his  head  niddle-noddling  like  an  elephant 
all  the  time  ;  and  with  it  all  such  a  presence  of  brute  and 
absence  of  soul  in  his  mug,  enough  to  give  a  thoughtful 
man  some  very  queer  ideas  about  man  and  beast. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

My  office  in  this  trip  was  merely  to  contract  for  the 
elephant's  food  at  the  various  places ;  but  I  was  getting 
older  and  shrewder,  and  more  designing  than  I  used  to 
be,  and  I  was  quite  keen  enough  to  see  in  this  elephant 
the  means  of  bettering  my  fortunes  if  I  could  but  make 
friends  with  her.  But  how  to  do  this  ?  She  was  like 
a  coquette  :  strange  admirers  welcome  ;  but  when  you 
had  courted  her  awhile  she  got  tired  of  you,  and  then 
nothing  short  of  your  demise  satisfied  her  caprice.  Her 
heart  seemed  inaccessible,  except  to  this  brute  Elliot3 


78 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


and  he,  drunk  or  sober,  guarded  the  secret  of  his  fasci- 
nation by  some  instinct ;  for  reason  he  possessed  in  a 
very  small  degree. 

I  played  the  spy  on  quadruped  and  biped,  and  I  found 
out  the  fact,  but  the  reason  beat  me.  I  saw  that  she 
was  more  tenderly  careful  of  him  than  a  mother  of  her 
child.  I  saw  him  roll  down  stupid  drunk  under  her 
belly,  and  I  saw  her  lift  first  one  foot  and  then  the 
other,  and  draw  them  slowly  and  carefully  back,  trem- 
bling with  fear  lest  she  might  make  a  mistake  and  hurt 
him. 

But  why  she  was  a  mother  to  him,  and  a  stepmother 
to  the  rest  of  us,  that  I  could  not  learn. 

One  day,  between  Plymouth  and  Liverpool,  having 
left  Elliot  and  her  together,  I  happened  to  return,  and  I 
found  the  elephant  alone  and  in  a  state  of  excitement, 
and  looking  in  I  observed  some  blood  upon  the  straw. 

His  turn  has  come  at  last,  was  my  first  notion ;  but 
looking  round,  there  was  Elliot  behind  me. 

"  I  was  afraid  she  had  tried  it  on  with  you,"  I  said. 

"Who?" 

"The  elephant." 

Elliot's  face  was  not  generally  expressive,  but  the 
look  of  silent  scorn  he  gave  me  at  the  idea  of  the 
elephant  attacking  him  was  worth  seeing.  The  brute 
knew  something  I  did  not  know  and  could  not  find  out ; 
and  from  this  one  piece  of  knowledge  he  looked  down 
upon  me  with  a  sort  of  contempt  that  set  all  the  Seven 
Dials'  blood  on  fire. 

"I  will  bottom  this,"  said  I,  "if  I  die  for  it." 

My  plan  now  was  to  feed  Djek  every  day  with  my 
own  hand,  but  never  to  go  near  her  without  Elliot  at 
my  very  side,  and  in  front  of  the  elephant. 

This  was  my  first  step. 

We  were  now  drawing  towards  Newcastle,  and  had  to 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


79 


He  at  Morpeth ;  where  we  arrived  late,  and  found  Mr. 
Yates  and  M.  Huguet,  who  had  come  out  from  Newcastle 
to  meet  us ;  and  at  this  place  I  determined  on  a  new 
move  which  I  had  long  meditated. 

Elliot,  I  reflected,  always  slept  with  the  elephant. 
None  of  the  other  men  had  ever  done  this.  Now  might 
there  not  be  some  magic  in  this  unbroken  familiarity 
between  the  two  animals  ? 

Accordingly,  at  Morpeth  I  pretended  there  was  no 
bed  vacant  in  the  inn,  and  asked  Elliot  to  let  me  lie 
beside  him  ;  he  grunted  an  ungracious  assent. 

Not  to  overdo  it  at  first,  I  got  Elliot  between  me  and 
Djek,  so  that  if  she  was  offended  at  my  intrusion,  she 
must  pass  over  her  darling  to  resent  it ;  Ave  had  tramped 
a  good  many  miles,  and  were  soon  fast  asleep. 

About  two  in  the  morning  I  was  awoke  by  a  shout 
and  a  crunching,  and  felt  myself  dropping  into  the 
straw  out  of  the  elephant's  mouth.  She  had  stretched 
her  proboscis  over  him  —  had  taken  me  up  so  delicately 
that  I  felt  nothing,  and  when  Elliot  shouted  I  was  in 
her  mouth ;  at  his  voice,  that  rang  in  my  ears  like  the 
last  trumpet,  she  dropped  me  like  a  hot  potato.  I  rolled 
out  of  the  straw,  giving  tongue  a  good  one,  and  ran  out 
of  the  shed.  I  had  no  sooner  got  to  the  inn  than  I  felt 
a  sickening  pain  in  my  shoulder  and  fainted  away. 

Her  huge  tooth  had  gone  into  my  shoulder  like  a 
wedge.    It  was  myself  I  had  heard  being  crunched. 

They  did  what  they  could  for  me,  and  I  soon  came  to. 
"When  I  recovered  my  senses  I  was  seized  with  vomit- 
ing ;  but  at  last  all  violent  symptoms  abated ;  and  I 
began  to  suffer  great  pain  in  the  injured  part,  and  did 
suffer  for  six  weeks. 

And  so  I  scraped  clear.  Somehow  or  other  Elliot  was 
not  drunk,  or  nothing  could  have  saved  me  :  for  a  second 
wonder  he,  who  was  a  heavy  sleeper,  woke  at  the  very 


80  JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 

slight  noise  she  made  eating  me ;  a  moment  later,  and 
nothing  could  have  saved  me.  I  use  too  many  words  — 
suppose  she  had  eaten  me  —  what  then  ? 

They  told  Mr.  Yates  at  breakfast,  and  he  sent  for  me 
and  advised  me  to  lie  quiet  at  Morpeth  till  the  fever  of 
the  wound  should  be  off  me  ;  but  I  refused.  She  was  to 
start  at  ten,  and  I  told  him  I  should  start  with  her. 

Running  from  grim  death  like  that,  I  had  left  my 
shoes  behind  in  the  shed,  and  M.  Huguet  sent  his  serv- 
ant Baptiste,  an  Italian,  for  them. 

Mr.  Yates  then  asked  me  for  all  the  particulars,  and 
whilst  I  was  telling  him  and  M.  Huguet,  we  heard  a 
commotion  in  the  street,  and  saw  people  running,  and 
presently  one  of  the  waiters  ran  in  and  cried,  — 

"  The  elephant  has  killed  a  man,  or  near  it." 

Mr.  Yates  laughed  and  said,  — 

"  Not  quite  so  bad  as  that ;  for  here  is  the  man." 

"  No,  no  ! "  cried  the  waiter ;  "  it  is  not  him  ;  it  is  one 
of  the  foreigners." 

Mr.  Yates  started  up  all  trembling :  he  ran  to  the 
stable  :  I  followed  him  as  I  was,  and  there  we  saw  a 
sight  to  make  our  blood  run  cold.  On  the  corn-bin  lay 
poor  Baptiste  crushed  into  a  mummy.  How  it  happened 
there  was  no  means  of  knowing ;  but,  no  doubt,  while  he 
was  groping  in  the  straw  for  my  wretched  shoes,  she 
struck  him  with  her  trunk,  perhaps  more  than  once ;  his 
breast-bones  were  broken  to  chips,  and  every  time  he 
breathed,  which  by  God's  mercy  was  not  many  minutes, 
the  man's  whole  chest  frame  puffed  out  like  a  bladder 
with  the  action  of  his  lungs  —  it  was  too  horrible  to 
look  at. 

Elliot  had  run  at  Baptiste's  cry,  but  too  late  to  save 
his  life  this  time.  He  had  drawn  the  man  out  of  the 
straw  as  she  was  about  to  pound  him  to  a  jelly,  and  there 
the  poor  soul  lay  on  the  corn-bin,  and  by  his  side  lay  the 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


81 


things  he  had  died  for :  two  old  shoes.  Elliot  had  found 
them  in  the  straw,  and  put  them  there  of  all  places  in 
the  world. 

By  this  time  all  Morpeth  was  out.  They  besieged  the 
doors,  and  vowed  death  to  the  elephant.  M.  Huguet 
became  greatly  alarmed :  he  could  spare  Baptiste,  but  he 
could  not  spare  Djek.  He  got  Mr.  Yates  to  pacify  the 
people  :  "  Tell  them  something/7  said  he. 

"  What  on  earth  can  I  say  for  her  over  that  man's 
bleeding  body  ?  "  said  Mr.  Yates.  "  Curse  her  !  would 
to  God  I  had  never  seen  her  ! " 

"  Tell  them  he  used  her  cruel,"  said  M.  Huguet ;  "  I 
have  brought  her  off  with  that  before  now." 

Well,  my  sickness  came  on  again,  partly  no  doubt  by 
the  sight  and  the  remorse,  and  I  was  got  to  bed  and  lay 
there  some  days ;  so  I  did  not  see  all  that  passed,  but  I 
heard  some,  and  I  know  the  rest  by  instinct  now. 

Half  an  hour  after  breakfast-time  Baptiste  died.  On 
this  the  elephant  was  detained  by  the  authorities,  and  a 
coroner's  inquest  was  summoned,  and  sat  in  the  shambles 
on  the  victim,  with  the  butcheress  looking  on  at  the  pro- 
ceedings. 

Pippin  told  me  she  took  off  a  juryman's  hat  during 
the  investigation,  waved  it  triumphantly  in  the  air,  and 
placed  it  cleverly  on  her  favorite's  head,  old  Tom. 

At  this  inquest  two  or  three  persons  deposed  on  oath 
that  the  deceased  had  ill-used  her  more  than  once  in 
France,  in  particular  that  he  had  run  a  pitchfork  into 
her  two  years  ago,  that  he  had  been  remonstrated  with, 
but  in  vain ;  unfortunately  she  had  recognized  him  at 
once,  and  killed  him  out  of  revenge  for  past  cruelty,  or 
to  save  herself  from  fresh  outrages. 

This  cooled  the  ardor  against  her.  Some  even  took 
part  with  her  against  the  man. 

"  Bun  a  pitchfork  into  an  elephant !    Oh,  for  shame  ! 


82 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


no  wonder  she  killed  him  at  last.  How  good  of  her  not 
to  kill  him  then  and  there  —  what  forbearance  —  for- 
gave it  for  two  years,  ye  see." 

There  is  a  fixed  opinion  among  men  that  an  elephant 
is  a  good,  kind  creature ;  the  opinion  is  fed  by  the  pro- 
prietors of  elephants,  who  must  'nurse  the  notion  or  lose 
their  customers,  and  so  a  set  tale  is  always  ready  to  clear 
■the  guilty  and  criminate  the  sufferer ;  and  this  tale  is 
greedily  swallowed  by  the  public.  You  will  hear  and 
read  many  such  tales  in  the  papers  before  you  die. 
Every  such  tale  is  a  lie. 

How  curiously  things  happen  !  Last  year,  i.  e.,  more 
than  twenty  years  after  this  event,  my  little  girl  went 
for  a  pound  of  butter  to  Newport  Street.  She  brought 
it  wrapped  up  in  a  scrap  of  a  very  old  newspaper ;  in 
unrolling  it,  my  eye  by  mere  accident  fell  upon  these 
words:  "An  inquest."  I  had  no  sooner  read  the  para- 
graph than  I  put  the  scrap  of  paper  away  in  my  desk  : 
it  lies  before  me  now,  and  I  am  copying  it. 

"  An  inquest  was  held  at  the  Phoenix  Inn,  Morpeth,  on  the 
27th  ultimo,  on  view  of  the  body  of  an  Italian  named  Baptiste 
Bernard,  who  was  one  of  the  attendants  on  the  female  ele- 
phant which  lately  performed  at  the  Adelphi.  It  appeared 
from  the  evidence  that  the  man  had  stabbed  the  elephant  in 
the  trunk  with  a  pitchfork  about  two  years  ago,  while  in  a 
state  of  intoxication,  and  that  on  the  Tuesday  previous  to  the 
inquest,  the  animal  caught  hold  of  him  with  her  trunk,  and 
did  him  so  much  injury  that  he  died  in  a  few  hours.  Verdict, 
died  from  the  wounds  and  bruises  received  from  the  trunk  of 
an  elephant.    Deodand,  five  shillings.'" 

Well,  this  has  gone  all  abroad :  for  print  travels  like 
wind  ;  and  it  is  not  fair  to  the  friends  and  the  memory 
of  this  Baptiste  Bernard  to  print  that  he  died  by  his 
own  cruelty,  or  fault,  or  folly. 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


83 


So  take  my  deposition,  and  carry  it  to  Milan,  his 
native  city. 

I  declare  upon  oath  that  the  above  is  a  lie.  That  the 
man  was  never  an  attendant  upon  the  female  elephant ; 
he  was  an  attendant  on  the  female  Huguet.  For  he 
was  that  lady's  footman.  His  first  introduction  to 
Mademoiselle  Djek  was  her  killing  him,  and  he  died, 
not  by  any  fault  of  his  own,  but  by  the  will  of  God  and 
through  ignorance  of  the  real  nature  of  the  full-grown 
elephant,  the  cunningest,  most  treacherous,  and  blood- 
thirsty beast  that  ever  played  the  butcher  among  man- 
kind. 

What  men  speak  dissolves  in  the  air ;  what  they  print 
stands  fast,  and  will  look  them  in  the  face  to  all  eter- 
nity. I  print  the  truth  about  this  man's  death,  so  help 
me  God. 

Business  is  business.  As  soon  as  we  had  got  the 
inquest  over,  and  stamped  the  lie  current,  hid  the  truth, 
and  buried  the  man,  we  marched  south  and  played  our 
little  play  at  Newcastle. 

Deodand  for  a  human  soul  sent  by  murder  to  its 
account,  five  bob. 

After  Newcastle  we  walked  to  York  and  thence  to  Man- 
chester. I  crept  along  thoroughly  crestfallen.  Months 
and  months  I  had  watched  and  spied  and  tried  to  pluck 
out  the  heart  of  this  Tom  Elliot's  mystery.  I  had 
failed.  Months  and  months  I  had  tried  to  gain  some 
influence  over  Djek.  I  had  failed  —  but  for  Elliot,  it 
was  clear  I  should  not  live  a  single  day  within  reach  of 
her  trunk;  this  brute  was  my  superior.  I  was  compelled 
to  look  up  to  him,  and  I  did  look  up  to  him. 

As  I  tramped  sulkily  along,  my  smarting  shoulder 
reminded  me  that  in  elephant,  as  in  everything  else  I 
had  tried,  I  was  Jack,  not  master. 

The  proprietors  had  their  cause  of  discontent  too  j  we 


84 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


had  silenced  the  law,  but  we  could  not  silence  opinion. 
Somehow  suspicion  hung  about  her  in  the  very  air 
wherever  she  went.  She  never  throve  in  the  English 
provinces  after  the  Morpeth  job,  and  finding  this,  Mr. 
Yates  said,  "Oh,  hang  her,  she  has  lost  her  character 
here.  Send  her  to  America."  So  he  and  M.  Huguet 
joined  partnership  and  took  this  new  speculation  on 
their  shoulders.  America  was  even  in  that  day  a  great 
card  if  you  went  with  an  English  or  French  reputation. 

I  had  been  thinking  of  leaving  her  and  her  old  Tom 
in  despair ;  but  now  that  other  dangers  and  inconven- 
iences were  to  be  endured  besides  her  and  her  trunk,  by 
some  strange  freak  of  human  nature,  or  by  fate,  I  began 
to  cling  to  her  like  a  limpet  to  a  rock,  the  more  you  pull 
at  him. 

Mr.  Yates  dissuaded  me.  "  Have  nothing  to  do  with 
her,  Jack.  She  will  serve  you  like  all  the  rest.  Stay 
at  home,  and  I'll  find  something  for  you  in  the  theatre." 

I  thought  a  great  deal  of  Mr.  Yates  for  this ;  for  he 
was  speaking  against  his  own  interest.  I  was  a  faithful 
servant  to  him,  and  he  needed  one  about  her.  Many  a 
five-pound  note  I  had  saved  him  already,  and  well  he 
deserved  it  at  my  hands. 

"  Xo,  sir,"  I  said,  "  I  shall  be  of  use,  and  I  can't  bear 
to  be  nonplussed  by  two  brutes  like  Elliot  and  her.  I 
have  begun  to  study  her,  and  I  must  go  on  to  the  word 
'finis!'" 

Messrs.  Yates  and  Huguet  insured  the  elephant  for 
twenty  thousand  pounds,  and  sent  us  all  to  sea  together 
in  the  middle  of  November,  a  pretty  month  to  cross  the 
Atlantic  in. 

This  was  what  betters  call  a  hedge ;  and  not  a  bad 
one. 

Our  party  was  Queen  Djek,  Mr.  Stevenson  her  finan- 
cier, Mr.  Gallott  her  stage-manager  and  wrongful  heir; 


JACK  OF  ALL  TEADES, 


85 


Elliot  her  keeper,  her  lord,  her  king ;  Pippin  her  slave, 
always  trembling  for  his  head ;  myself  her  commissariat ; 
and  one  George  Hinde  from  Wombwell's,  her  man-of-all- 
work. 

She  had  a  stout  cabin  built  upon  deck  for  her.  It 
cost  forty  pounds  to  make ;  what  she  paid  for  the  ac- 
commodation Heaven  knows,  but  I  should  think  a  good 
round  sum,  for  it  was  the  curse  of  the  sailors  and  pas- 
sengers, and  added  fresh  terrors  to  navigation ;  the 
steersman  could  not  see  the  ship's  head,  until  the  sea 
took  the  mariners'  part  and  knocked  it  into  toothpicks. 

Captain  Sebor  had  such  a  passage  with  us  as  he  had 
never  encountered  before  ;  he  told  us  so  —  and  no  won- 
der ;  he  never  had  such  a  wholesale  murderess  on  board 
before ;  contrary  winds  forever  and  stiff  gales  too.  At 
last  it  blew  great  guns ;  and  one  night  as  the  sun  went 
down  crimson  in  the  Gulf  of  Florida,  the  sea  running 
mountains  high,  I  saw  Captain  Sebor  himself  was 
fidgety.  He  had  cause  :  that  night  a  tempest  came  on  : 
the  Ontario  rolled  fearfully,  and  groaned  like  a  dying 
man ;  about  two  in  the  morning  a  sea  struck  her, 
smashed  Djek's  cabin  to  atoms,  and  left  her  exposed 
and  reeling;  another  such  would  now  have  swept  her 
overboard,  but  her  wits  never  left  her  for  a  moment. 
She  threw  herself  down  flatter  than  any  man  could  have 
conceived  possible ;  out  went  all  her  four  legs,  and  she 
glued  her  belly  to  the  deck ;  the  sailors  passed  a  chain 
from  the  weather  to  the  lee  bulwarks,  and  she  seized  it 
with  her  proboscis,  and  held  on  like  grim  death.  Poor 
thing,  her  coat  never  got  not  to  say  dry  —  she  was  like 
a  great  water-rat  all  the  rest  of  the  voyage. 

The  passage  was  twelve  weeks  of  foul  weather ;  the 
elephant  began  to  be  suspected  of  being  the  cause  of 
this,  and  the  sailors  often  looked  askant  at  her,  and 
said  we  should  never  see  port  till  she  walked  the  plank 


86 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


into  the  Atlantic.  If  her  underwriters  saved  their 
twenty  thousand  pounds,  it  was  touch  and  go  more  than 
once  or  twice.  Moreover,  she  ate  so  little  all  the  voyage 
that  it  was  a  wonder  to  Elliot  and  me  how  she  came  not 
to  die  of  sickness  and  hunger.  I  suppose  she  survived 
it  all  because  she  had  more  mischief  to  do. 

As  the  pretty  little  witches  sing  in  Mr.  Locke's  opera 
of  "Macbeth:" 

She  must,  she  must,  she  must,  she  must,  she  must 
shed  —  much  —  more  —  blood. 


CHAPTEE  VII. 

Our  preposterous  long  voyage  deranged  all  the  calcu- 
lations that  had  been  made  for  us  in  England,  and  we 
reached  New  York  just  at  the  wrong  time.  We  found 
Master  Burke  playing  at  the  Park  Theatre,  and  we  were 
forced  to  treat  with  an  inferior  house,  the  Bowery 
Theatre.  We  played  there  with  but  small  success  com- 
pared with  what  we  had  been  used  to  in  Europe.  Master 
Burke  filled  the  house  —  we  did  not  fill  ours  —  so  that 
at  last  she  was  actually  eclipsed  by  a  human  actor :  to 
be  sure  it  was  a  boy,  not  a  man,  and  child's  play  is  some- 
times preferred  by  the  theatre-going  world  even  to  horse- 
play. 

The  statesmen  were  cold  to  us  ;  they  had  not  at  this 
time  learned  to  form  an  opinion  of  their  own  at  sight  on 
such  matters,  and  we  did  not  bring  them  an  overpower- 
ing European  verdict  to  which  they  had  nothing  to  do 
but  sign  their  names.  There  was  no  groove  cut  for  the 
mind  to  run  in,  and  while  they  hesitated,  the  speculation 
halted.  I  think  she  would  succeed  there  now ;  but  at 
this  time  they  were  not  ripe  for  an  elephant. 


JACK  OF  ALL  THADES. 


87 


We  left  New  York  and  away  to  Philadelphia  on  foot 
and  steamboat. 

There  is  a  place  on  the  Delaware  where  the  boat 
draws  up  to  a  small  pier.  Down  this  we  marched,  and 
about  ten  yards  from  the  end  the  floor  gave  way  under 
her  weight,  and  Djek  and  her  train  fell  into  the  sea.  I 
was  awoke  from  a  reverie,  and  found  myself  sitting  right 
atop  of  her,  with  my  knees  in  Chesapeake  Bay.  Elliot 
had  a  rough  Benjamin  on,  and  as  he  was  coming  thun- 
dering down  with  the  rest  of  the  rubbish  alive  and  dead, 
it  caught  in  a  nail,  and  he  hung  over  the  bay  by  the 
shoulder  like  an  Indian  fakeer,  cursing  and  swearing  for 
all  the  world  like  a  dog  barking.  I  never  saw  such  a 
posture  —  and,  oh  !  the  language  ! 

I  swam  out ;  but  Djek  was  caught  in  a  trap  betweer? 
the  two  sets  of  piles.  The  water  was  about  two  feet 
over  her  head,  so  that  every  now  and  then  she  disap- 
peared, and  then  striking  the  bottom  she  came  up  again, 
plunging  and  rolling  and  making  waves  like  a  steam- 
boat: her  trunk  she  kept  vertical  like  the  hose  of  a 
diving-bell,  and  oh,  the  noises  that  came  up  from  the 
bottom  of  the  sea  through  that  flesh-pipe  :  for  about  four 
hours  she  went  up  and  down  the  gamut  of  "  0  Lord,  what 
shall  I  do  ?  "  more  than  a  thousand  times,  I  think.  We 
brought  ropes  to  her  aid,  and  boats,  and  men,  and  tried 
all  we  knew  to  move  her,  but  in  vain  ;  and  when  we  had 
exhausted  our  sagacity,  she  drew  upon  a  better  bank,  her 
own.  Talk  of  brutes  not  being  able  to  reason  —  gam- 
mon. Djek  could  reason  like  Solomon ;  for  each  fresh 
difficulty  she  found  a  fresh  resource.  On  this  occasion 
she  did  what  I  never  saw  her  do  before  or  since :  she 
took  her  enormous  skull,  and  used  it  as  a  battering-ram 
against  the  piles  :  two  of  them  resisted  —  no  wonder  — 
they  were  about  eight  inches  in  diameter;  the  third 
snapped  like  glass,  and  she  plunged  through  and  waddled 


88 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


on  shore.  I  met  her  with  a  bucket  of  brandy  and  hot 
water  —  stiff. 

Ladies,  who  are  said  to  sip  this  compound  in  your 
boudoirs  while  your  husbands  are  smoking  at  the  clubs, 
but  I  don't  believe  it  of  you,  learn  how  this  lady  dis- 
posed of  her  wooden  tumbler  full.  She  thrust  her  pro- 
boscis into  it.  Whis — s — s — s — p  !  Now  it  is  all  in 
her  trunk.  Whis — s — s — sh !  Now  it  is  all  in  her  abdo- 
men: one  breath  drawn  and  exhaled  sent  it  from  the 
bucket  home.  This  done,  her  eye  twinkled,  and  she 
trumpeted  to  the  tune  of  "  All  is  well  that  ends  well." 

I  should  weary  the  reader  were  I  to  relate  at  length 
all  the  small  incidents  that  befell  us  in  the  United 
States. 

The  general  result  was  failure,  loss  of  money,  our  sal- 
aries not  paid  up,  and  fearful  embarrassments  staring  us 
in  the  face  j  we  scraped  through  without  pawning  the 
elephant,  but  we  were  often  on  the  verge  of  it.  All  this 
did  not  choke  my  ambition.  Warned  by  the  past,  I 
never  ventured  near  her  (unless  Elliot  was  there)  for 
twelve  months  after  our  landing ;  but  I  was  always 
watching  Elliot  and  her  to  find  the  secret  of  his  in- 
fluence. 

A  fearful  annoyance  to  the  leaders  of  the  speculation 
was  the  drunkenness  of  Old  Tom  and  George  Hinde  : 
these  two  encouraged  one  another  and  defied  us,  and  of 
course  they  were  our  masters,  because  no  one  but  Elliot 
could  move  the  elephant  from  place  to  plaee  or  work  her 
on  the  stage. 

One  night  Elliot  was  so  drunk  that  he  fell  down 
senseless  at  the  door  of  her  shed  on  his  way  to  repose. 
I  was  not  near,  but  Mr.  Gallott,  it  seems,  was,  and  he  told 
us  she  put  out  her  proboscis,  drew  him  tenderly  in,  laid 
him  on  the  straw,  and  flung  some  straw  over  him  or 
partly  over  him.    Mr.  Gallott  is  alive  and  a  public  char- 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


89 


acter :  you  can  ask  him  whether  this  is  true  :  I  tell  this 
one  thing  on  hearsay. 

Not  long  after  this,  in  one  of  the  American  towns,  I 
forget  which,  passing  by  Djek's  shed,  I  heard  a  tremen- 
dous row.  I  was  about  to  call  Elliot,  thinking  it  was 
the  old  story,  somebody  getting  butchered :  but,  I  don't 
know  how  it  was,  something  stopped  me,  and  I  looked 
cautiously  in  instead,  and  I  saw  Tom  Elliot  walking  into 
her  with  a  pitchfork  —  she  trembling  like  a  schoolboy 
with  her  head  in  a  corner  —  and  the  blood  streaming 
from  her  sides.  As  soon  as  he  caught  sight  of  me,  he 
left  orf  and  muttered  unintelligibly.  I  said  nothing.  I 
thought  the  more. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

We  had  to  go  by  water  to  a  place  called  City  Point, 
and  thence  to  Pittsville.  I  made  a  mistake  as  to  the 
hour  the  boat  started ;  and  Djek  &  Co.  went  on  board 
without  me. 

Well,  you  will  say  I  could  follow  by  the  next  boat. 
But  how  about  the  tin  to  pay  the  passage  ?  My  pocket 
was  dry  :  and  the  treasurer  gone  on.  But  I  had  a  good 
set  of  blacking  brushes  ;  so  sold  them,  and  followed  on 
with  the  proceeds  :  got  to  City  Point.  Elephant  gone 
on  to  Pittsville  ;  that  I  expected.  Twenty  miles  or  so 
I  had  to  tramp  on  an  empty  stomach.  And  now  doesn't 
the  Devil  send  me  a  fellow  who  shows  me  a  short  cut 
through  a  wood  to  Pittsville :  into  the  wood  I  go.  I 
thought  it  was  to  be  like  an  English  wood :  out  of  the 
sun  into  a  pleasant  shade,  and,  by  then  you  are  cool, 
into  the  world  again.  Instead  of  that,  "  the  deeper  the 
deeper  you  are  in  it,"  as  the  song  of  the  bottle  says,  the 


90 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


further  you  were  from  getting  out  of  it.  Presently  two 
roads  instead  of  one,  and  then  I  knew  I  was  done.  I 
took  one  road :  it  twisted  like  a  serpent.  I  had  not 
been  half  an  hour  on  it  before  I  lost  all  the  points  of 
the  compass.  Says  I,  "  I  don't  know  whether  I  ever 
shall  see  daylight  again  •  but  if  I  do,  City  Point  will  be 
the  first  thing  I  shall  see.    You  mark  my  words/'  said  I. 

So  here  was  I  lost  in  what  they  call  a  wood  out  there, 
but  we  should  call  a  forest  at  home.  And  now,  being  in 
the  heart  of  it,  I  got  among  the  devilishest  noises,  and 
nothing  to  be  seen  to  account  for  them :  little  feet  pat- 
tering and  scurrying  along  the  ground,  wings  flapping 
out  of  trees ;  but  what  struck  most  awe  into  a  chap 
from  the  Seven  Dials  was  the  rattle,  the  everlasting 
rattle  and  nothing  to  show.  Often  I  have  puzzled  my- 
self what  this  rattle  could  be.  It  was  like  a  thousand 
rattlesnakes,  and  didn't  I  wish  I  was  in  the  Seven  Dials, 
though  some  get  lost  in  them  for  that  matter.  After  all, 
I  think  it  was  only  insects ;  but  insects  by  billions  — 
you  never  heard  anything  like  it  in  an  English  wood. 

Just  as  I  was  losing  heart  in  this  enchanted  wood,  I 
heard  an  earthly  sound,  the  tramp  of  a  horse's  foot.  It 
was  music. 

But  the  leaves  were  so  thick,  I  could  not  see  where  the 
horse  was :  he  seemed  to  get  farther  off,  and  then  nearer. 
At  last  the  sound  came  so  close  I  made  a  run,  burst 
through  a  lot  of  green  leaves,  and  came  out  plump  on  a 
man  riding  a  gray  cob.  He  up  with  the  but-end  of  his 
whip  to  fell  me,  but  seeing  I  was  respectable,  "  Halloo, 
stranger ! "  says  he,  "  guess  you  sort  o'  startled  me."  — 
"  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  says  I,  "  but  I  have  lost  my  way." 
—  "I  see  you  are  a  stranger,"  said  he. 

So  then  he  asked  me  where  I  was  bound  for,  and  I 
told  him  —  Pittsville. 

I  won't  insult  the  reader  by  telling  him  what  he  said 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


91 


about  the  course  I  had  been  taking  through  the  wood. 
I  might  as  well  tell  him  his  A  B  C,  or  which  side  his 
bread  and  butter  falls  in  the  dust  on.  Then  he  asked 
me  who  I  was,  so  I  told  him  I  was  one  of  the  elephant's 
domestics,  leastways  I  did  not  word  it  so  candid  —  "I 
was  in  charge  of  the  elephant,  and  had  taken  a  short 
cut." 

Now  he  had  heard  of  Djek,  and  seen  her  bills  up,  so 
he  knew  it  was  all  right.  "  How  am  I  to  find  my  way 
out,  sir  ?  "  said  I.  "  Find  your  way  out  ?  "  said  he. 
"  You  will  never  find  your  way  out."  —  "  Good  news, 
that." 

He  thought  a  bit,  then  he  said,  "  The  best  thing  you 
can  do  is  to  come  home  with  me,  and  to-morrow  I  will 
send  you  on." 

I  could  have  hugged  him. 

"  You  had  better  walk  behind  me,"  says  he,  "  my  pony 
bites."  So  I  tramped  astern ;  and  on  we  went  patter, 
patter,  patter  through  the  wood.  At  first  I  felt  as  jolly 
as  a  sand-boy  marching  behind  the  pony ;  but  when  we 
had  pattered  best  part  of  an  hour,  I  began  to  have  my 
misgivings.  In  all  the  enchanted  woods  ever  I  had  read 
of  there  was  a  small  trifle  of  a  wizard  or  ogre  that  took 
you  home  and  settled  your  hash.  Fee,  faw,  fuin,  I 
smell  the  blood  of  an  English-mun,  etc. 

And  still  on  we  pattered,  and  the  sun  began  to  de- 
cline, and  the  wood  to  darken,  and  still  we  pattered  on. 
I  was  just  thinking  of  turning  tail  and  slipping  back 
among  the  panthers  and  mosquitoes  and  rattlesnakes, 
when,  oh,  be  joyful !  we  burst  on  a  clearing,  and  there 
was  a  nice  house  in  the  middle  of  it,  and  out  came  the 
dogs  jumping  to  welcome  us,  and  niggers  no  end,  with 
white  eyeballs  and  grinders  like  snow. 

They  pulled  him  off  his  horse,  and  in  we  went.  There 
was  his  good  lady,  and  his  daughter,  a  beautiful  girl,  and 


92 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


snch  a  dinner  !  We  sat  down,  and  I  maintained  a  mod« 
est  taciturnity  for  some  minutes :  u  The  silent  hog  eats 
the  most  acorns."  After  dinner  he  shows  me  all  manner 
of  ways  of  mixing  the  grog,  and  I  show  him  one  way 
of  drinking  it  —  when  yon  can  get  it.  Then  he  must 
hear  about  the  elephant ;  so  I  tell  him  the  jade's  history, 
but  bind  Mm  to  secrecy. 

Then  the  young  lady  puts  in,  u  So  you  are  really  an 
Englishman?  ana  she  looks  me  all  over.  ••  That  you 
may  take  your  oath  of.  iniss,"?  says  L 

••  Oh/"  says  she,  and  smiles.  I  did  not  take  it  up  at 
first,  but  I  see  what  it  was  now.  Me  standing  five  feet 
four.  I  did  not  come  up  to  her  notion  of  the  Father  of  all 
Americans.  ••  Does  this  great  people  spring  from  such 
a  little  stock  as  we  have  here  ?  "  thinks  my  young  lady. 
I  should  have  up  and  told  her  the  pluck  makes  the  man 
and  not  the  inches  ;  but  I  lost  that  chance.  Then  being 
pressed  with  questions,  I  told  them  all  my  adventures,  and 
they  hung  on  my  words.  It  was  a  new  leaf  to  them,  I 
could  see  that. 

The  young  lady,  her  eyes  glittered  like  two  purple 
stars,  at  a  stranger  with  the  gift  of  the  gab,  that  had 
seen  so  much  life  as  I  had,  and  midnight  came  in  no 
time.  Then  I  was  ushered  to  bed.  Xow  up  to  that 
time  I  had  always  gone  to  roost  without  pomp  or  cere- 
mony ;  sometimes  with  a  mole  candle,  but  oftener  a 
farthing  dip,  which  I  have  seen  it  dart  its  beams  out  of 
a  bottle  instead  of  a  flat  candlestick. 

This  time  a  whole  cavalcade  of  us  went  up  the  stairs ; 
one  blackie  marched  in  my  van  with  two  lights,  two 
blackies  brought  up  my  rear.  They  showed  me  into  a 
beautiful  room,  and  stood  in  the  half-light  with  eyes  and 
teeth  like  red-hot  silver,  glittering  and  diabolical.  I 
thought  of  course  they  would  go  away  now.  2s  or  they. 
Presently  one  imp  of  darkness  brings  me  a  chair. 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


93 


I  sit  down  and  wonder.  Other  two  lay  hold  of  my 
boots  and  whip  them  off.  This  done  they  buzz  about 
me  like  black  and  white  fiends,  fidgetting,  till  I  longed 
to  punch  their  heads.  They  pull  my  coat  off  and  my 
trousers ;  then  they  hoist  me  into  bed.  This  done,  first 
one  makes  a  run  and  tucks  me  in  and  grins  over  me  dia- 
bolical; then  another  comes  like  a  battering-ram,  and 
tucks  me  in  tighter.  Fiend  3  looks  at  the  work  and 
puts  the  artful  touches  at  the  corners,  and  behold  me 
wedged,  and  then  the  beneficent  fiends  mizzled  with  a 
hearty  grin  that  seemed  to  turn  them  all  ivory.  I 
could  not  believe  my  senses ;  I  had  never  been  tucked 
in  since  my  mother's  time. 

In  the  morning,  struggled  out,  and  came  down  to 
breakfast.  Took  leave  of  the  good  Samaritan,  who 
appointed  two  of  my  niggers  to  see  me  out  of  the  wood, 
made  my  bow  to  the  ladies,  and  away  with  a  grateful 
heart.  The  niggers  conducted  me  clear  of  the  wood, 
and  set  me  on  the  broad  road.  Then  came  one  of  the 
pills  a  poor  fellow  has  to  stomach.  I  had  made  friends 
with  the  poor  darkies,  and  now  I  had  not  even  a  few 
pence  to  give  them,  and  such  a  little  would  have  gone 
so  far  with  them.  I  have  often  felt  the  bitterness  of 
poverty,  but  never  I  do  think  as  when  I  parted  with  my 
poor  niggers  at  the  edge  of  the  wood,  and  was  forced  to 
see  them  go  slowly  home  without  a  farthing. 

I  wish  these  few  words  could  travel  across  the  water, 
and  my  good  host  might  read  them,  and  see  I  have 
not  forgotten  him  all  these  years.  But,  dear  heart, 
you  may  be  sure  he  is  not  upon  the  earth  now.  It  is 
years  ago,  and  a  man  that  had  the  heart  to  harbor  a 
stranger  and  a  wanderer,  why,  he  would  be  one  of  the 
first  to  go. 

We  steamed  and  tramped  up  and  down  the  United 
States  of  America.    On  our  return  to  Norfolk,  she  broke 


94 


JACK  OF  ALL  TLADES. 


loose  at  midnight,  slipped  into  the  town,  took  up  the 
trees  on  the  boulevard  and  strewed  them  flat,  went  into 
the  market,  broke  into  a  vegetable  shop,  munched  the 
entire  stock ;  next  to  a  coachinakers,  took  off  a  carriage- 
wheel,  opened  the  door,  stripped  the  cushions,  and  we 
found  her  eating  the  stuffing. 

One  day  at  noon,  we  found  ourselves  fourteen  miles 
from  the  town,  I  forget  its  name,  we  had  to  play  in  that 
very  night.  Mr.  Gallott  had  gone  on  to  rehearse,  etc., 
and  it  behooved  us  to  be  marching  after  him.  At  this 
juncture  Old  Tom,  being  rather  drunk,  feels  a  strong 
desire  to  be  quite  drunk,  and  refuses  to  stir  from  his 
brandy-and-water.  Our  exchequer  was  in  no  condition 
to  be  trifled  with  thus.  If  Elliot  &  Co.  became  helpless 
for  an  hour  or  two  we  should  arrive  too  late  for  the 
night's  performance,  and  Djek  eating  her  head  off  all 
the  while.  I  coaxed  and  threatened  our  two  brandy 
sponges ;  but  in  vain.  They  stuck  and  sucked.  I  was 
in  despair,  and  being  in  despair,  came  to  a  desperate 
resolution.  I  determined  to  try  and  master  her  myself 
then  and  there,  and  to  defy  these  drunkards. 

I  told  Pippin  my  project.  He  started  back  aghast; 
he  viewed  me  in  the  light  of  a  madman.  "Are  you 
tired  of  your  life  ? "  said  he.  But  I  was  inflexible. 
Seven  Dials'  pluck  was  up.  I  was  enraged  with  my 
drunkards,  and  I  was  tired  of  waiting  so  many  years,  the 
slave  of  a  quadruped  whose  master  was  a  brute. 

Elephants  are  driven  with  a  rod  of  steel  sharpened  at 
the  end ;  about  a  foot  from  the  end  of  this  weapon  is  a 
large  hook  ;  by  sticking  this  hook  into  an  elephant's 
ear,  and  pulling  it,  you  make  her  sensible  which  way 
you  want  her  to  go,  and  persuade  her  to  comply. 

Armed  with  this  tool  I  walked  up  to  Djek's  shed,  and 
in  the  most  harsh  and  brutal  voice  I  could  command, 
bade  her  come  out    She  moved  in  the  shed,  but  hesi- 


ON  WE  MARCHED,   THE   BEST  OF  FRIENDS. 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


95 


tated.  I  repeated  the  command  still  more  repulsively, 
and  out  she  came  towards  me  very  slowly. 

With  beasts  such  as  lions,  tigers,  and  elephants,  great 
promptitude  is  the  thing.  Think  for  them  !  Don't  give 
them  time  to  think,  or  their  thoughts  may  be  evil.  I 
had  learned  this  much,  so  I  introduced  myself  by  driv- 
ing the  steel  into  Djek's  ribs,  and  then  hooking  her  ear, 
while  Pippin  looked  down  from  a  first-story  window. 
If  Djek  had  known  how  my  heart  was  beating,  she 
would  have  killed  me  then  and  there ;  but,  observing  no 
hesitation  on  my  part,  she  took  it  all  as  a  matter  of 
course,  and  walked  with  me  like  a  lamb.  I  found 
myself  alone  with  her  on  the  road,  and  fourteen  miles 
of  it  before  us.  It  was  a  serious  situation,  but  I  was 
ripe  for  it  now.  All  the  old  women's  stories  and  tradi- 
tions about  an  elephant's  character  had  been  driven  out 
of  me  by  experience  and  washed  out  with  blood.  I  had 
fathomed  Elliot's  art.  I  had  got  what  the  French  call 
the  riddle-key  of  Mademoiselle  Djek,  and  that  key  was 
"  steel ! " 

On  we  inarched,  the  best  of  friends ;  there  were  a 
number  of  little  hills  on  the  road,  and  as  wre  mounted 
one,  a  figure  used  to  appear  behind  us  on  the  crest  of  the 
last  between  us  and  the  sky  —  this  was  the  gallant 
Pippin,  solicitous  for  his  friend's  fate,  but  desirous  of 
not  partaking  it  if  adverse.  And  still  the  worthy  Djek 
and  I  marched  on,  the  best  of  friends.  About  a  mile 
out  of  the  town  she  put  out  her  trunk  and  tried  to,  curl 
it  round  me  in  a  caressing  way.  I  met  this  overture  by 
driving  the  steel  into  her  till  the  blood  squirted  out  of 
her.  If  I  had  not,  the  siren  would  have  killed  me  in 
the  course  of  the  next  five  minutes.  Whenever  she 
relaxed  her  speed,  I  drove  the  steel  into  her.  When 
the  afternoon  sun  smiled  gloriously  on  us,  and  the  poor 
thing  felt  nature  stir  in  her  heart,  and  began  to  frisk  in 


90 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


her  awful  clumsy  way,  pounding  the  great  globe,  I  drove 
the  steel  into  her :  if  I  had  not,  I  should  not  be  here  to 
relate  this  sprightly  narrative. 

Meantime  at          her   stage-manager  and  financier 

were  in  great  distress  and  anxiety,  —  four  o'clock,  and 
no  elephant.  At  last  they  got  so  frightened,  they  came 
out  to  meet  us,  and  presently  to  their  amazement  and 
delight  Djek  strode  up  with  her  new  general.  Their 
ecstasy  was  great  to  think  the  whole  business  was  no 
longer  at  a  drunkard's  mercy.  "But  how  did  you  man- 
age ?  how  ever  did  ye  win  her  heart  ?"  —  "  With  this," 
said  I,  and  showed  them  the  bloody  steel. 

We  had  not  been  in  town  half  an  hour  before  Tom  and 
George  came  in.  They  were  not  so  drunk  but  what  they 
trembled  for  their  situations  after  my  exploit,  and  rolled 
and  zigzagged  after  us  as  fast  as  they  could. 

By  these  means  I  rose  from  mademoiselle's  slave  to 
be  her  friend  and  companion. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

This  feat  kept  my  two  drunkards  in  better  order,  and 
revived  my  own  dormant  ambition.  I  used  now  to  visit 
her  by  myself,  steel  in  hand,  to  feed  her,  etc.,  and  scrape 
acquaintance  with  her  by  every  means  —  steel  in  hand. 
One  day  I  was  feeding  her,  when  suddenly  I  thought  a 
house  had  fallen  on  me.  I  felt  myself  crashing  against 
the  door,  and  there  I  was  lying  upon  it  in  the  passage 
with  all  the  breath  driven  clean  out  of  my  bod}r.  Pippin 
came  and  lifted  me  up,  and  carried  me  into  the  air.  I 
thought  I  should  have  died  before  breath  could  get  into 
my  lungs  again.  She  had  done  this  with  a  push  from 
the  thick  end  of  her  proboscis.    After  awhile  I  came  to. 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


97 


I  had  no  sooner  recovered  my  breath  than  I  ran  into  the 
stable,  and  came  back  with  a  pitchfork.  Pippin  saw  my 
intention,  and  implored  me  for  heaven's  sake  not  to.  I 
would  not  listen  to  him ;  he  flung  his  arms  round  me. 
I  threatened  to  turn  the  fork  on  him  if  he  did  not  let 
me  go. 

"  Hark  ! "  said  he,  and  sure  enough  there  she  was 
snorting  and  getting  up  her  rage.  "I  know  all  about 
that,"  said  I :  "  my  death-warrant  is  drawn  up,  and  if  I 
don't  strike,  it  will  be  signed :  this  is  how  she  has  felt 
her  way  with  all  of  them  before  she  has  killed  them.  I 
have  but  one  chance  of  life,"  said  I,  "  and  I  won't  throw 
it  away  without  a  struggle."  I  opened  the  door,  and  with 
a  mind  full  of  misgivings  I  walked  quickly  up  to  her.  I 
did  not  hesitate  or  raise  the  question  which  of  us  two 
was  to  suffer;  I  knew  that  would  not  do.  I  sprang 
upon  her  like  a  tiger,  and  drove  the  pitchfork  into  her 
trunk.  She  gave  a  yell  of  dismay,  and  turned  a  little 
from  me ;  I  drove  the  fork  into  her  ear. 

Then  came  out  her  real  character. 

She  wheeled  round,  ran  her  head  into  a  corner,  stuck 
out  her  great  buttocks,  and  trembled  all  over  like  a  leaf. 
I  stabbed  her  with  all  my  force  for  half  an  hour  till  the 
blood  poured  out  of  every  square  foot  of  her  huge  body, 
and,  during  the  operation,  she  would  have  crept  into  a 
nut-shell  if  she  could.  I  filled  her  as  full  of  holes  as  a 
cloved  orange. 

The  blood  that  trickled  out  of  her  saved  mine :  and 
for  the  first  time  I  walked  out  of  her  shambles  her 
master. 

One  year  and  six  months  after  we  had  landed  at  New 
Xork  to  conquer  another  hemisphere,  we  turned  tail  and 
sailed  for  England  again.  We  had  a  prosperous  voyage 
with  the  exception  of  one  accident.  George  Hinde  from 
incessant  brandy  had  delirium  tremens,  and  one  nighty 


98 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


in  a  fit  of  it,  lie  had  just  sense  enough,  to  see  that  he  was 
hardly  to  be  trusted  with  the  care  of  himself.  "  John," 
said  he  to  me,  "  tie  me  to  this  mast  hand  and  foot."  I 
demurred :  but  he  begged  me  for  heaven's  sake ;  so  I 
bound  him  hand  and  foot  as  per  order.  This  done,  some 
one  called  me  down  below,  and  whilst  I  was  there,  it 
seems  George  got  very  uncomfortable  and  began  to  halloo 
and  complain.  Up  comes  the  captain ;  sees  a  man  lashed 
to  the  mast.  "What  game  is  this?"  says  he.  "It  is 
that  little  blackguard  John,"  says  Hinde,  "he  caught  me 
sleeping  against  the  mast,  and  took  a  mean  advantage  : 
do  loose  me,  captain  !  "  The  captain  made  sure  it  was  a 
sea-jest,  and  loosed  him  with  his  own  hands.  "Thank 
you,  captain,"  saj'S  George  ;  "  you  are  a  good  fellow. 
God  bless  you  all ! "  and  with  these  words  he  ran  aft  and 
jumped  into  the  sea.  A  Yankee  sailor  made  a  grab  at 
him  and  just  touched  his  coat,  but  it  was  too  late  to  save 
him,  and  we  were  going  before  the  wind  ten  knots  an 
hour.  Thus  George  Hinde  fell  by  brandy :  his  kindred 
spirit  old  Tom  seemed  ready  to  follow  without  the  help 
of  water  salt  or  fresh.  This  man's  face  was  now  an 
uniform  color,  white,  with  a  scarce  perceptible  bluish, 
yellowish  tinge.    He  was  a  moving  corpse. 

Drink  forever !  It  makes  men  thieves,  murderers, 
asses,  and  paupers  ;  but  what  about  that,  so  long  as  it 
sends  them  to  an  early  grave,  with  "  beast "  for  their 
friends  to  write  over  their  tombstones,  unless  they  have 
a  mind  to  tell  lies  in  a  churchyard,  and  that  is  a  common 
trick. 

We  arrived  at  the  mouth  of  the  Thames. 

Some  boats  boarded  us  with  fresh  provisions  and  deli- 
cacies ;  among  the  rest  one  I  had  not  tasted  for  many  a 
day,  it  is  called  soft-tommy  at  sea,  and,  on  land,  bread. 
The  merchant  stood  on  tiptoe  and  handed  a  loaf  towards 
me,  and  I  leaned  over  the  bulwarks  and  stretched  down 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


99 


to  him  with  a  shilling  in  my  hand.  But,  as  ill-luck 
would  have  it,  the  shilling  slipped  from  my  fingers  and 
fell.  If  it  had  been  some  men's  it  would  have  fallen 
into  the  boat;  others',  into  the  sea,  slap ;  but  it  was  mine, 
and  so  it  fell  on  the  boat's  very  rim  and  then  danced  to 
its  own  music  into  the  water.  I  looked  after  it  in  silence ; 
a  young  lady,  with  whom  I  had  made  some  little  acquaint- 
ance during  the  voyage,  happened  to  be  at  my  elbow,  and 
she  laughed  most  merrily  as  the  shilling  went  down.  I 
remember  being  astonished  that  she  laughed.  The  man 
still  held  out  the  bread,  but  I  shook  my  head.  "  I  must 
go  without  now,"  said  I ;  the  young  lady  was  quite  sur- 
prised. "Why,  it  is  worth  a  guinea,"  cried  she.  "Yes, 
miss,"  said  I,  sheepishly,  "  but  wTe  can't  always  have 
what  we  like,  you  see ;  I  ought  to  have  held  my  shilling 
tighter." 

"  Your  shilling,"  cries  she.  "  Oh !  "  and  she  dashed 
her  hand  into  her  pocket  and  took  out  her  purse,  and  I 
could  see  her  beautiful  white  fingers  tremble  with  eager- 
ness as  they  dived  among  the  coin.  She  soon  bought 
the  loaf,  and  as  she  handed  it  to  me,  I  happened  to  look 
in  her  face,  and  her  cheek  was  red  and  her  eyes  quite 
brimming:  her  quick  woman's  heart  had  told  her  the 
truth,  that  it  was  a  well-dressed  and  tolerably  well-be- 
haved man's  last  shilling,  and  he  returning  after  years 
of  travel  to  his  native  land. 

I  am  sure,  until  the  young  lady  felt  for  me,  I  thought 
nothing  of  it ;  I  had  been  at  my  last  shilling  more  than 
once.  But  when  I  saw  she  thought  it  hard,  I  began  to 
think  it  was  hard,  and  I  remember  the  water  came  into 
my  own  eyes.  Heaven  bless  her,  and  may  she  never 
want  a  shilling  in  her  pocket,  nor  a  kind  heart  near  her 
to  show  her  the  world  is  not  all  made  of  stone  ! 

We  had  no  money  to  pay  our  passage,  and  we  found 
Mr.  Yates  somewhat  embarrassed;  we  had  cost  him  a 


jack  :r  all  llalzs. 


thousand  or  two  and  no  return.    So.  whilst  he  wrote  to 
M.  Huguet,  that  came  to  pass  in  England  which  we  had 
always  just  contrived  to  stare  off  abroad. 
The  elephant  was  pawned. 

And  now  I  became  of  use  to  the  proprietors ;  I  ar- 
ranged with  the  mortgagees,  and  they  made  the  spout  a 
show-place.  I  used  to  exhibit  her  and  her  tricks,  and 
with  the  proceeds  I  fed  her,  and  Elliot,  and  myself. 

We  had  been  three  weeks  in  pledge,  when,  one  fine 
morning,  as  I  was  showing  off  seated  on  the  elephant's 
back.  I  heard  a  French  exclamation  of  surprise  and  joy ; 
I  looked  down,  and  there  was  M.  Huguet.  I  came  down 
to  him,  and  he,  whose  quick  eye  saw  a  way  through  me 
out  of  drunken  Elliot,  gave  a  loose  to  his  feelings  and 
embraced  me  a  la  Francaise:  4;  which  made  the  common 
people  very  much  to  admire,"  as  the  song  has  it,  also  a 
polite  howl  of  derision  greeted  our  Continental  affection. 
M.  Huguet  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  and  we  got  out 
of  limbo,  and  were  let  loose  upon  suffering  humanity 
once  more, 

They  talk  as  if  English  gold  did  everything ;  but  it 
was  French  gold  bought  us  off,  I  know  that ;  for  I  saw 
it  come  out  of  his  pocket 

As  soon  as  we  were  redeemed,  we  took  an  engagement 
at  Astley's,  and,  during  this  engagement,  cadaverous 
Tom,  finding  we  could  master  her,  used  to  attend  less 
and  less  to  her,  and  more  and  more  to  brandy. 

A  certain  baker  who  brought  her  loaves  every  morn- 
ing for  breakfast  used  to  ask  me  to  let  him  feed  her 
himself.  He  admired  her,  and  took  this  way  of  making 
her  fond  of  him.  One  day  I  had  left  these  two  friends 
and  their  loaves  together  for  a  minute,  when  I  heard  a 
fearful  cry.  I  knew  the  sound  too  well  by  this  time, 
and  as  I  ran  back,  I  had  the  sense  to  halloo  at  her ;  this 
saved  the  man's  life :  at  the  sound  of  my  voice  she 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


101 


dropped  him  from  a  height  of  about  twelve  feet,  and 
he  rolled  away  like  a  ball  of  worsted.  I  dashed  in,  up 
with  the  pitchfork  and  into  her  like  lightning,  and  while 
the  blood  was  squirting  out  of  her  from  a  hundred  little 
prong-holes,  the  poor  baker  limped  away. 

Any  gentleman  or  lady  who  wishes  to  know  how  a 
man  feels  when  seized  by  an  elephant  preparatory  to 
being  squelched,  can  consult  this  person ;  he  is  a  respect- 
able  tradesman ;  his  name  is  Johns  :  he  lives  near  Ast- 
ley's  Theatre,  or  used  to,  and  for  obvious  reasons  can  tell 
you  this  one  anecdote  out  of  many  such  better  than  I 
can ;  that  is,  if  he  has  not  forgotten  it,  and  i"  dare  say  he 
hasn't  —  ask  him  ! 

After  Astley's,  Drury  Lane  engaged  us  to  play  second 
to  the  "  Lions  of  Mysore ;  "  rather  a  down-come  ;  but  we 
went.  In.  this  theatre  we  behaved  wonderfully.  Not- 
withstanding the  number  of  people  continually  buzzing 
about  us,  we  kept  our  temper  and  did  not  smash  a  single 
one  of  these  human  gnats  so  trying  to  our  little  female 
irritability  and  feeble  nerves.  The  only  thing  we  did 
wrong  was,  we  broke  through  a  granite  mountain  and  fell 
down  on  to  the  plains,  and  hurt  our  knee,  and  broke  one 
super,  —  only  one. 

The  "  Lions  of  Mysore  "  went  a-starring  to  Liverpool, 
and  we  accompanied  them.  Whilst  we  were  there  the 
cholera  broke  out  in  England,  and  M.  Huguet  summoned 
us  hastily  to  France.  We  brushed  our  hats,  put  on  our 
gloves,  and  walked  at  one  stretch  from  Liverpool  to 
Dover.  There  we  embarked  for  Boulogne  ;  Djek,  cadav- 
erous Tom,  wolf-skin-lamb  Pippin,  and  myself.  I  was 
now  in  Huguet's  service  at  fifty  francs  a  week,  as  coad- 
jutor and  successor  of  cadaverous  Tom,  whose  demise 
was  hourly  expected  even  by  us  who  were  hardened  by 
use  to  his  appearance,  which  was  that  of  the  ghost  of 
delirium  tremens.    We  arrived  off  Boulogne  Pier;  but 


102 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


there  we  were  boarded  by  men  in  uniforms  and  mus- 
taches, and  questions  put  about  the  cholera,  which  dis- 
ease the  civic  authorities  of  Boulogne  were  determined 
to  keep  on  the  other  side  of  the  Channel.  The  captain's 
answer  proving  satisfactory,  we  were  allowed  to  run  into 
the  port. 

In  landing  anywhere,  Djek  and  her  attendants  had 
always  to  wait  till  the  other  passengers  had  got  clear, 
and  we  did  so  on  this  occasion.  At  length  our  turn 
came ;  but  we  had  no  sooner  crossed  the  gangway,  and 
touched  French  ground,  than  a  movement  took  place  on 
the  quay,  and  a  lot  of  bayonets  bristled  in  our  faces,  and 
"  halte  let  "  was  the  word.  We  begged  an  explanation  ; 
in  answer  an  officer  glared  with  eyes  like  saucers  and 
pointed  with  his  finger  at  Elliot.  The  truth  flashed  on 
us.  The  Frenchmen  were  afraid  of  cholera  coming  over 
from  England,  and  here  was  a  man  who  looked  plague, 
cholera  or  death  himself  in  person.  We  remonstrated 
through  an  interpreter,  but  Tom's  face  was  not  to  be 
refuted  by  words.  Some  were  for  sending  us  back  home 
to  so  diseased  a  country  as  this  article  must  have  come 
out  of;  bat  milder  measures  prevailed.  They  set  apart  for 
our  use  a  little  corner  of  the  quay,  and  there  they  roped 
us  in  and  sentinelled  us.  And  so  for  four  days,  in  the 
polished  kingdom  of  France,  we  dwelt  in  a  hut  ruder  far 
than  any  on  the  banks  of  the  Ohio.  Drink  forever !  At 
last,  as  Tom  Coffin  got  neither  a  worse  nor  a  better  color, 
they  listened  to  reason  and  let  us  loose  upon  the  nation 
at  large,  and  away  we  tramped  for  Paris. 

Times  were  changed  with  us  in  one  respect ;  we  no 
longer  marched  to  certain  victory;  our  long  ill-success 
in  America  had  lessened  our  arrogance,  and  we  crept 
along  towards  Paris.  But,  luckily  for  us,  we  had  now  a 
presiding  head  and  a  good  one.  The  soul  of  business  is 
puffing;   and  no  man   puffed  better  than  our  chief 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


103 


M.  Huguet.  Half  way  between  Boulogne  and  Paris  we 
were  met  by  a  cavalier  carrying  our  instructions  how  we 
were  to  enter  Paris  ;  and,  arrived  at  St.  Denis,  instead 
of  going  straight  on,  we  skirted  the  town,  and  made  our 
formal  entry  by  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  and  the  Arch  of 
Triumph.  Huguet  had  come  to  terms  with  Pranconi, 
and,  to  give  Djek's  engagement  more  public  importance, 
Pranconi's  whole  troop  were  ordered  out  to  meet  us  and 
escort  us  in.  They  paraded  up  and  down  the  Champs 
Elysees  first,  to  excite  attention  and  inquiry,  and,  when 
the  public  were  fairly  agog,  our  cavalcade  formed  outside 
the  barrier  and  came  glittering  and  prancing  through  the 
arch.  An  elephant  has  her  ups  and  her  downs  like  the  rest. 
Djek,  the  despised  of  Kentucky  and  Virginia,  burst  on 
Paris,  the  centre  of  a  shining  throng.  Franconi's  bright 
amazons  and  exquisite  cavaliers  rode  to  and  fro  our  line 
carrying  sham  messages  with  earnest  faces ;  Djek  was 
bedecked  with  ribbons  and  seemed  to  tread  more  majes- 
tically, and  our  own  hearts  beat  higher,  as,  amidst  grace 
and  beauty,  and  pomp,  sun  shining  —  hats  waving  — 
feathers  bending  —  mob  cheering  —  trumpets  crowing  — 
and  flints  striking  fire,  we  strode  proudly  into  the  great 
city,  the  capital  of  pleasure. 


CHAPTER  X. 

These  were  bright  days  to  me.  I  was  set  over  Old 
Tom  —  fancy  that ;  and  my  salary  doubled  his :  I  had 
fifty  francs  a  week,  and  cleared  as  much  more  by  show- 
ing her  privately  in  her  stable. 

Money  melts  in  London;  it  evaporates  in  Paris. 
Pippin  was  a  great  favorite  both  with  men  and  women 
behind  the  scenes  at  Pranconi's :  he  introduced  me  to 


104 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


charming  companions  of  both,  sexes;  gayety  reigned, 
and  tin  and  morals  "made  themselves  air,  into  which 
they  vanished."  —  Shakespeare. 

Towards  the  close  of  her  engagement  Djek  made  one 
of  her  mistakes :  she  up  with  her  rightful  heir,  and 
broke  his  ribs  against  the  side  scenes. 

We  nearly  had  to  stop  her  performances  !  we  could 
not  mend  our  rightful  heir  by  next  night,  and  substi- 
tutes did  not  pour  in.  "  I  won't  go  on  with  her,"  "  I 
won't  play  with  her,"  was  a  cry  that  even  the  humblest 
and  neediest  began  to  raise.  I  am  happy  to  say  that 
she  was  not  under  my  superintendence  when  this  right- 
ful heir  came  to  grief. 

And  now  the  cholera  came  to  Paris,  and  theatricals  of 
all  sorts  declined,  for  there  was  a  real  tragedy  playing 
in  every  street.  The  deaths  were  very  numerous  and 
awfully  sudden ;  people  were  struck  down  in  the  streets 
as  if  by  lightning ;  gloom  and  terror  hung  over  all. 

When  this  terrible  disease  is  better  known,  it  will  be 
found  to  be  of  the  nature  of  strong  poison,  and  its  cure, 
if  any,  will  be  strychnine,  belladonna,  or  likelier  still 
some  quick  and  deadly  mineral  poison  that  kills  the 
healthy  with  cramps  and  discoloration. 

In  its  rapid  form  cholera  is  not  to  be  told  from  quick 
poison,  and  hence  sprung  up  among  the  lower  order  in 
Paris  a  notion  that  wholesale  poisoning  was  on  foot. 

Pippin  and  I  were  standing  at  the  door  of  a  wine- 
shop waiting  for  our  change  ;  his  wild  appearance 
attracted  first  one  and  then  another  :  little  knots  of 
people  collected  and  eyed  us :  then  they  began  to  talk 
and  murmur,  and  cast  suspicious  glances.  "  Come  away," 
said  Pippin,  rather  hastily.  We  walked  off  —  they 
walked  after  us,  increasing  like  a  snowball,  and  they 
murmured  louder  and  louder.  I  asked  Pippin  what  the 
fools  were  gabbling  about ;  he  told  me  they  suspected  us 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


105 


of  being  the  poisoners ;  at  this  I  turned  round,  and 
being  five  feet  four,  and  English,  was  for  punching 
some  of  their  heads  ;  but  the  athletic  pacific  Italian 
would  not  hear  of  it,  much  less  co-operate  :  and  now 
they  surrounded  us  just  at  the  corner  of  one  of  the 
bridges,  lashing  themselves  into  a  fury,  and  looking  first 
at  us,  and  then  at  the  river  below.  Pippin  was  as  white 
as  death,  and  I  thought  it  was  all  up  myself,  when  by 
good  luck  a  troop  of  mounted  gendarmes  issued  from 
the  palace.  Pippin  hailed  them;  they  came  up,  and, 
after  hearing  both  sides,  took  us  under  their  protection, 
and  off  we  marched  between  two  files  of  cavalry,  fol- 
lowed by  the  curses  of  a  superficial  populace.  Extremes 
don't  do.  Pippin  was  the  color  of  ink,  Elliot  of  paper  : 
both  their  mugs  fell  under  suspicion,  and  nearly  brought 
us  to  grief. 

Eranconi  closed,  and  Djek,  Huguet  and  Co.  started  on 
a  provincial  tour. 

They  associated  themselves  on  this  occasion  with 
Michelet,  who  had  some  small  wild  animals,  such  as 
lions,  tigers,  and  leopards. 

Our  first  move  was  to  Versailles.  Here  we  built  a 
show-place  and  exhibited  Djek,  not  as  an  actress,  but  as 
a  private  elephant,  in  which  capacity  she  did  the  usual 
elephant  business,  besides  a  trick  or  two  that  most  of 
them  have  not  brains  enough  for ;  whereof  anon. 

Michelet  was  the  predecessor  of  Van  Amburgh  and 
Carter,  and  did  everything  they  do,  a  dozen  years  before 
they  were  ever  heard  of  :  used  to  go  into  the  lions'  den, 
pull  them  about,  and  put  his  head  down  their  throats, 
and  their  paws  round  his  neck,  etc. 

I  observed  this  man  and  learned  something  from  him. 
Besides  that  general  quickness  and  decision,  which  is 
necessary  with  wild  animals,  I  noticed  that  he  was 
always  on  the  lookout  for  mischief,  and  always  punished 


106 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


it  before  it  came.  Another  point,  he  always  attacked 
the  offending  part,  and  so  met  the  evil  in  front ;  for 
instance,  if  one  of  his  darlings  curled  a  lip  and  showed 
a  tooth,  he  hit  him  over  the  mouth  that  moment  and 
nowhere  else;  if  one  elongated  a  claw,  he  hit  him  over 
the  foot  like  lightning.  He  read  the  whole  crew  as  I 
had  learned  to  read  Djek,  and  conquered  their  malice  by 
means  of  that  marvellous  cowardice  which  they  all  show 
if  they  can  see  no  sign  of  it  in  you. 

There  are  no  two  ways  with  wild  beasts.  If  there  is 
a  single  white  spot  in  your  heart  —  leave  them  ;  for 
your  life  will  be  in  danger  every  moment.  If  you  can 
despise  them,  and  keep  the  rod  always  in  sight,  they  are 
your  humble  servants  ;  nobody  more  so. 

Our  exhibition,  successful  at  first,  began  to  flag;  so 
then  the  fertile  brain  of  M.  Huguet  had  to  work.  He 
proposed  to  his  partner  to  stand  a  tiger  and  he  would 
stand  a  bull,  and  "  we  will  have  a  joint-stock  fight  like 
the  King  of  Oude."  Michelet  had  his  misgivings ;  but 
Huguet  overruled  him.  That  ingenious  gentleman  then 
printed  bills  advertising  for  a  certain  day  a  fight  between 
a  real  Bengal  tiger  and  a  ferocious  bull  that  had  just 
gored  a  man  to  death.  This  done,  he  sent  me  round  the 
villages  to  find  and  hire  a  bull :  "  Mind  you  get  a  mild 
one,  or  I  shall  have  to  pay  for  a  hole  in  the  tiger's 
leather."  I  found  one  which  the  owner  consented  to 
risk  for  so  much  money  down,  and  the  damage  he  should 
sustain  from  tiger  to  be  valued  independently  by  two 
farmers  after  the  battle. 

The  morning  of  the  fight  Pippin  and  I  went  for  our 
bull,  and  took  him  out  of  the  yard  towards  Versailles ; 
but  when  we  had  gone  about  two  hundred  yards,  he 
became  uneasy,  looked  round,  sniffed  about,  and  finally 
turned  round,  spite  of  all  our  efforts,  and  paced  home 
again.    We  remonstrated  with  the  proprietor.  "Oh," 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


107 


said  he,  "I  forgot  —  he  won't  start  without  the  wench." 
So  the  wench  in  question  was  sent  for  (his  companion 
upon  amatory  excursions),  she  went  with  us,  and  launched 
*us  towards  Versailles.  This  done,  she  returned  home, 
and  we  marched  on ;  but  before  we  had  gone  a  furlong, 
Taurus  showed  symptoms  of  uneasiness  ;  these  in- 
creased, and  at  last  he  turned  round  and  walked  tran- 
quilly home.  We  hung  upon  him,  thrashed  him,  and 
bullied  him,  all  to  no  purpose.  His  countenance  was 
placid,  but  his  soul  resolved,  and  he  walked  home  slowly, 
but  inevitably  :  so  then  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to 
let  him  have  the  wench  all  the  way  to  the  tiger ;  and  she 
would  not  go  to  Versailles  till  she  had  put  on  some 
new  finery,  short  waist,  coal-scuttle  bonnet,  etc.  More 
time  lost  with  that  —  and,  when  we  did  arrive  in  the 
arena,  the  spectators  were  tired  of  waiting.  The  bull 
stood  in  the  middle  confused  and  stupid.  The  tiger  was 
in  his  cage  in  a  corner ;  we  gave  him  time  to  observe 
his  prey,  and  then  we  opened  the  door  of  his  cage. 

A  shiver  ran  through  the  audience.  (They  were  all 
seated  in  boxes  looking  down  on  the  area.) 

A  moment  more,  and  the  furious  animal  would  spring 
upon  his  victim,  and  his  fangs  and  claws  sink  deep  into 
its  neck,  etc.,  vide  book  of  travels. 

One  moment  succeeded  to  another,  and  nothing  oc- 
curred. The  ferocious  animal  lay  quiet  in  his  cage,  and 
showed  no  sign ;  so  then  we  poked  the  ferocious  animal 
—  he  snarled,  but  would  not  venture  out.  When  this 
had  lasted  a  long  time,  the  spectators  began  to  doubt  his 
ferocity,  and  to  goose  the  ferocious  animal.  So  I  got  a 
red-hot  iron  and  nagged  him  behind.  He  gave  a  yell  of 
dismay  and  went  into  the  arena  like  a  shot.  He  took 
no  notice  of  the  bull :  all  he  thought  of  was  escape 
from  the  horrors  that  surrounded  him.  Winged  by 
terror,  he  gave  a  tremendous  spring  and  landed  his  fore- 


108 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


paws  on  the  boxes,  stuck  fast  and  glared  in  at  the 
spectators.  They  rushed  out  yelling.  He  dug  his 
hind-claws  into  the  woodwcrk,  and  by  slow  and  painful 
degrees  clambered  into  the  boxes.  When  he  got  in,  the 
young  and  active  were  gone  home,  and  he  ran  down  the 
stairs  among  the  old  people  that  could  not  get  clear  so 
quick  as  the  rest.  He  was  so  frightened  at  the  people 
that  he  skulked  and  hid  himself  in  a  corn-field,  and  the 
people  were  so  frightened  at  him  that  they  ran  home 
and  locked  their  street-doors.  So  one  coward  made 
many. 

They  thought  the  poor  wretch  had  attacked  them,  and 
the  journal  next  day  maintained  this  view  of  the  trans- 
action, and  the  town  to  this  day  believes  it.  We  netted 
our  striped  coward  with  four  shutters,  and  kicked  him 
into  his  cage. 

The  bull  went  home  with  "the  wench,"  and  to  this 
day  his  thick  skull  has  never  comprehended  what  the 
deuce  he  went  to  Versailles  for. 

This  was  how  he  competed  with  Oriental  monarchs. 

We  marched  southward,  through  Orleans,  Tours,  etc., 
to  Bordeaux,  and  were  pretty  well  received  in  all  these 
places  except  at  one  small  place  whose  name  I  forget. 
Here  they  hissed  her  out  of  the  town  at  sight.  It 
turned  out  she  had  been  there  before  and  pulverized  a 
brush-maker,  a  popular  man  amongst  them. 

Soon  after  Bordeaux  she  had  words  with  the  lions; 
they,  in  their  infernal  conceit,  thought  themselves  more 
attractive  than  Djek.  It  is  vice  versa,  and  by  a  long 
chalk,  said  Djek  and  Co.  The  parties  growled  a  bit,  then 
parted  to  meet  no  more  in  this  world. 

Prom  Bordeaux  we  returned  by  another  route  to  Paris  ; 
for  we  were  only  starring  it  in  the  interval  of  our  en- 
gagement as  an  actress  with  Franconi.  We  started  one 
morning  from  with  light  hearts,  our  faces  turned 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


109 


towards  the  gay  city  ;  Elliot,  Pippin,  and  I.  Elliot  and 
I  walked  by  the  side  of  the  elephant,  Pippin  walking 
some  forty  yards  in  the  rear.  He  never  trusted  himself 
nearer  to  her  on  a  march. 

We  were  plodding  along  in  this  order,  when,  all  in  a 
moment,,  without  reason  or  warning  of  any  sort,  she 
spun  round  between  us  on  one  heel  like  a  thing  turning 
on  a  pivot,  and  strode  back  like  lightning  at  Pippin.  He 
screamed  and  ran,  but  before  he  could  take  a  dozen  steps, 
she  was  upon  him  and  struck  him  down  with  her  trunk 
and  trampled  upon  him ;  she  then  wheeled  round  and 
trudged  back  as  if  she  had  merely  stopped  to  brush  off 
a  fly,  or  pick  up  a  stone.  After  the  first  moment  of 
stupefaction  both  Elliot  and  I  had  run  after  her  with  all 
the  speed  we  had  :  but  so  rapid  was  her  movement,  and 
so  instantaneous  the  work  of  death,  that  we  only  met  her 
on  her  return  from  her  victim.  I  will  not  shock  the 
reader  by  describing  the  state  in  which  we  found  our 
poor  comrade  :  but  he  was  crushed  to  death :  he  never 
spoke,  and  I  believe  and  trust  he  never  felt  anything  for 
the  few  minutes  that  breath  lingered  in  his  body.  We 
kneeled  down  and  raised  him,  and  spoke  to  him,  but  he 
could  not  hear  us.  When  Djek  got  her  will  of  one  of 
us,  all  our  hope  used  to  be  to  see  the  man  die  ;  and  so  it 
was  with  poor  dear  Pippin  ;  mangled,  and  life  impos- 
sible, we  kneeled  down  and  prayed  to  God  for  his  death  ; 
and  by  Heaven's  mercy,  I  think  in  about  four  minutes 
from  the  time  he  got  his  death-blow,  his  spirit  passed 
away,  and  our  well-beloved  comrade  and  friend  was 
nothing  now  but  a  lump  of  clay  on  our  hands. 

We  were  some  miles  from  any  town  or  village,  and 
did  not  know  what  to  do,  and  how  to  take  him  to  a  rest- 
ing-place ;  at  last  we  were  obliged  to  tie  the  body  across 
the  proboscis,  and  cover  it  as  well  as  we  could,  and  so 
we  made  his  murderess  carry  him  to  the  little  town  of 


110 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


La  Palice  ;  yes,  La  Palice.  Here  we  stopped,  and  a  sort 
of  inquest  was  held,  and  M.  Huguet  attended  and  told 
the  old  story  ;  said  the  man  had  been  cruel  to  her,  and 
she  had  put  up  with  it  as  long  as  she  could.  Verdict  — 
"  Served  him  right,"  —  and  so  we  lied  over  our  poor 
friend's  murdered  body,  and  buried  him  with  many  sighs 
in  the  little  churchyard  of  La  Palice,  and  then  trudged 
on  sad  and  downcast  towards  the  gay  capital. 


CHAPTER  XL 

I  think  a  lesson  is  to  be  learned  from  this  sad  story. 
Too  much  fear  is  not  prudence.  Had  poor  Pippin 
walked  with  Elliot  and  me  alongside  the  elephant,  she 
dared  not  have  attacked  him.  But  through  fear  he  kept 
forty  yards  in  the  rear,  and  she  saw  a  chance  to  get  him 
by  himself :  and,  from  my  knowledge  of  her,  I  have 
little  doubt  she  had  meditated  this  attempt  for  months 
before  she  carried  it  out.    Poor  Pippin ! 

We  arrived  in  Paris  to  play  with  Franconi.  Now  it 
happened  to  be  inconvenient  to  Franconi  to  fulfil  his 
engagement.  He  accordingly  declined  us.  M.  Huguet 
was  angry  :  threatened  legal  proceedings.  Franconi  an- 
swered, "  Where  is  Pippin  ?  "  Huguet  shut  up.  Then 
Franconi  followed  suit ;  if  hard  pressed,  he  threatened 
to  declare  in  open  court  that  it  was  out  of  humanity 
alone  he  declined  to  fulfil  his  engagement.  This  stopped 
M.  Huguet's  mouth  altogether.  He  took  a  place  on  the 
Boulevard,  and  we  showed  her  and  her  tricks  at  three 
prices,  and  did  a  rattling  business.  Before  we  had  been 
a  fortnight  in  Paris,  old  Tom  Elliot  died  at  the  Hospital 
Dubois,  and  I  became  her  vizier  at  a  salary  of  one  hun- 
dred francs  per  week. 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


Ill 


Having  now  the  sole  responsibility,  I  watched  her  as 
you  would  a  powder-magazine  lighted  by  gas.  I  let  no- 
body but  M.  Huguet  go  near  her  in  my  absence.  This 
gentleman  continued  to  keep  her  sweet  on  him  with 
lumps  of  sugar,  and  to  act  as  her  showman  when  she  ex- 
hibited publicly. 

One  day  we  had  a  message  from  the  Tuileries,  and  we 
got  the  place  extra  clean  ;  and  the  King's  children  paid 
her  a  visit  —  a  lot  of  little  chaps  —  I  did  not  know  their 
names,  but  I  suppose  it  was  Prince  Joinville,  Aumale, 
etc.  All  I  know  is  that  while  these  little  Louis 
Philippes  were  coaxing  her,  and  feeding  her,  and  cutting 
about  her  and  sliding  down  her,  and  I  was  a-telling  them 
she  was  a  duck,  the  perspiration  was  running  down  my 
back  one  moment  and  cold  shivers  the  next,  and  I 
thanked  Heaven  devoutly  when  the  young  gents  went 
back  to  their  papa  and  mamma  and  no  bones  broken. 
The  young  gentlemen  reported  her  affability,  and  my 
lies,  to  the  King,  and  he  engaged  her  to  perform  gratis  in 
the  Champs  Elysees  during  the  three  days'  fete.  Fifteen 
hundred  francs  for  this. 

But  Huguet  was  penny  wise  and  pound  foolish  to 
agree :  for  it  took  her  gloss  off.  Showed  her  gratis  to 
half  the  city. 

Among  Djek's  visitors  came  one  day  a  pretty  young 
lady,  a  nursery-governess  to  some  nobleman's  children, 
whose  name  I  forget,  but  he  was  English.  The  children 
were  highly  amused  with  Djek,  and  quite  loath  to  go. 
The  young  lady,  who  had  a  smattering  of  English  as  I 
had  of  French,  put  several  questions  to  me.  I  answered 
them  more  polite  than  usual  on  account  of  her  being 
pretty,  and  I  used  a  privilege  I  had  and  gave  her  an 
order  for  free  admission  some  other  day.  She  came, 
with  only  one  child,  which  luckily  was  one  of  those 
deeply  meditative  ones  that  occur  but  rarely,  and  only 


112 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


bring  out  a  word  every  half-hour :  so  mademoiselle  and 
I  had  a  chat,  which  I  found  so  agreeable  that  I  rather 
neglected  the  general  public  for  her.  I  made  it  my 
business  to  learn  where  she  aired  the  children,  and  one 
vacant  morning,  dressed  in  the  top  of  the  fashion,  I  stood 
before  her  in  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries  ;  she  gave  a  half- 
start  and  a  blush,  and  seemed  very  much  struck  with  aston- 
ishment at  this  rencontre  :  she  was  a  little  less  astonished 
next  week  when  the  same  thing  happened,  but  still  she 
thought  these  coincidences  remarkable,  and  said  so.  In 

short,  I  paid  my  addresses  to  Mademoiselle  .  She 

was  a  charming  brunette  from  Geneva,  greatly  my  superior 
in  education  and  station.  I  was  perfectly  conscious  of 
this,  and  instantly  made  this  calculation  :  "  All  the  better 
for  me  if  I  can  win  her."'  But  the  reader  knows  my 
character  by  this  time,  and  must  have  observed  how 
large  a  portion  of  it  effrontery  forms.  I  wrote  to  her 
every  day,  sometimes  in  the  French  language  ;  no,  not  in 
the  French  language  j  in  French  words.  She  sometimes 
answered  in  English  words.  She  was  very  pretty  and 
very  interesting,  and  I  fancied  her.  When  a  man  is  in 
love  he  can  hardly  see  difficulties :  I  pressed  her  to 
marry  me,  and  I  believed  she  would  consent.  When  I 
came  to  this  point  the  young  lady's  gayety  declined, 
and  when  I  was  painting  her  pictures  of  our  conjugal  hap- 
piness, she  used  to  sigh  instead  of  brightening  at  the 
picture  :  at  last  I  pressed  her  so  hard  that  she  consented 
to  write  to  Geneva  and  ask  her  parents'  consent  to  our 
union:  when  the  letter  went,  I  was  in  towering  spirits. 
I  was  now  in  the  zenith  of  my  prosperity  :  the  risks  I 
had  run  with  Djek  were  rewarded  by  a  heavy  salary  and 
the  post  of  honor  near  her,  and,  now  that  I  was  a  little 
weary  of  roaming  the  world  alone  with  an  elephant,  fate 
had  thrown  in  my  way  a  charming  companion  who  would 
cheer  the  weary  road. 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


113 


Dreams. 

The  old  people  at  Geneva  saw  my  position  with 
another  eye.  "  He  is  a  servant  liable  to  lose  his  place 
at  any  moment  by  any  one  of  a  hundred  accidents,  and 
his  profession  is  a  discreditable  one  :  why,  he  is  a  show- 
man." 

They  told  her  all  this  in  language  so  plain  that  she 
would  never  show  me  the  letter.  I  was  for  defying 
their  advice  and  authority,  but  she  would  not  hear  of 
it.  I  was  forced  to  temporize.  "  In  a  month's  time,'7 
said  I  to  myself,  "  her  scruples  will  melt  away."  But 
in  less  than  a  fortnight  the  order  came  for  us  to  march 
into  Flanders.  I  communicated  this  cruel  order  to  my 
sweetheart ;  she  turned  pale,  and  made  no  secret  of  her 
attachment  to  me  and  of  the  pain  she  felt  at  parting. 
Every  evening  before  we  left  Paris  I  saw  her,  and  im- 
plored her  to  trust  herself  to  me  and  leave  Paris  as  my 
wife.  She  used  to  smile  at  my  pictures  of  wedded  hap- 
piness, and  cry  the  next  minute  because  she  dared  not 
give  herself  and  me  that  happiness ;  but  with  all  this 
she  was  firm  and  would  not  fly  in  her  parents'  face. 

At  last  came  a  sad  and  bitter  hour :  hat  in  hand,  as 
the  saying  is,  I  made  a  last  desperate  endeavor  to  persuade 
her  to  be  mine,  and  not  to  let  this  parting  take  place  at 
all.  She  was  much  agitated,  but  firm ;  and  the  more  I 
said,  the  firmer  she  became.  So  at  last  I  grew  frantic 
and  reproached  her.  I  called  her  a  cold-hearted  coquette, 
and  we  parted  in  anger  and  despair. 

Away  into  the  wide  world  again,  not,  as  I  used  to 
start  on  these  pilgrimages,  with  a  stout  heart  and  iron 
nerves,  but  cold  and  weary  and  worn  out  before  the 
journey  had  begun.  As  we  left  Paris  behind  us  I  had 
but  one  feeling :  that  the  best  of  life  was  at  an  end  for 
me.  My  limbs  took  me  along  like  machinery,  but  my 
heart  was  a  lump  of  ice  inside  me,  and  I  would  have 


H4  JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 

thanked  any  man  for  knocking  me  on  the  head  and  end- 
ing the  monotonous  farce  of  my  existence.  Ay,  gentle- 
folks, even  a  poor  mechanic  can  feel  like  this  when  the 
desire  of  his  heart  is  balked  forever. 

Trudge,  trudge,  trudge  !  for  ever  and  ever. 

Tramp,  tramp,  tramp  !  for  ever  and  ever. 

A  man  gets  faint  and  weary  of  it  at  last,  and  there 
comes  a  time  when  he  pines  for  a  hearthstone  and  a 
voice  he  can  believe,  a  part,  at  least,  of  what  it  says, 
and  a  Sunday  of  some  sort  now  and  then ;  and  my  time 
was  come  to  long  for  these  things,  and  for  a  pretty  and 
honest  face  about  me  to  stand  for  the  one  bit  of  peace 
and  the  one  bit  of  truth  in  my  vagabond-charlatan  life. 

I  lost  my  appetite  and  sleep,  and  was  Very  nearly  los- 
ing heart  altogether.  My  clothes  hung  about  me  like 
bags,  I  got  so  thin.  It  was  my  infernal  occupation  that 
cured  me  after  all.  Djek  gave  me  no  time  even  for  de- 
spair :  the  moment  I  became  her  sole  guardian  I  had 
sworn  on  my  knees  she  should  never  kill  another  man ; 
judge  whether  I  had  to  look  sharp  after  her  to  keep  the 
biped  from  perjury  and  the  quadruped  from  murder.  I 
slept  with  her,  rose  early,  fed  her,  walked  twenty  miles 
with  her,  or  exhibited  her  all  day,  sometimes  did  both, 
and  at  night  rolled  into  the  straw  beside  her,  too  deadly 
tired  to  feel  all  my  unhappiness  ;  and  so,  after  awhile, 
time  and  toil  blunted  my  sense  of  disappointment,  and 
I  trudged  and  tramped  and  praised  Djek's  moral  quali- 
ties in  the  old  routine.  Only  now  and  then  —  when  I  saw 
the  country  lads  in  France  or  Belgium  going  to  church 
dressed  in  their  best  with  their  sweethearts,  and  I  in 
prison  in  the  stable  with  my  four-legged  hussy,  waiting 
perhaps  till  dark  to  steal  out  and  march  to  some  fresh 
town  —  I  used  to  feel  as  heavy  as  lead,  and  as  bitter  as 
wormwood,  and  wish  we  were  all  dead  together  by  way 
of  a  change. 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


115 


A  man  needs  a  stout  heart  to  go  through  the  world  at 
all :  but  most  of  all  he  needs  it  for  a  roving  life  ;  don't 
you  believe  any  other,  no  matter  who  tells  you. 

With  this  brief  notice  of  my  feelings,  I  pass  over 
two  months'  travel.  All  through,  I  spare  the  reader 
much,  though  I  dare  say  he  doesn't  see  it. 

Sir,  the  very  names  of  the  places  I  have  visited  would 
fill  an  old-fashioned  map  of  Europe. 

Talk  of  Ulysses  and  his  travels;  he  never  saw  the 
tenth  part  of  what  I  have  gone  through. 

I  have  walked  with  Djek  farther  than  round  the 
world  during  the  eleven  years  I  trudged  beside  her ;  it 
is  only  twenty-four  thousand  miles  round  the  world. 

After  a  year's  pilgrimage,  we  found  ourselves  at 
Doncheray  near  Sedan. 

Here  we  had  an  incident.  Monsieur  Huguet  was  show- 
ing her  to  the  public  with  the  air  of  a  prince,  and  in 
his  marechal-of-France  costume,  glittering  with  his  the- 
atrical cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor.  He  was  not  par- 
ticular what  he  put  on,  so  that  it  shone  and  looked  well. 
He  sent  me  for  something  connected  with  the  perform- 
ance, a  pistol,  I  think.  I  had  hardly  ten  steps  to  go, 
but  during  the  time  I  was  out  of  her  sight,  I  heard  a 
man  cry  out  and  the  elephant  snort.  I  ran  back,  halloo- 
ing as  I  came.  As  I  ran  in  I  found  the  elephant  feeling 
for  something  in  the  straw  with  her  foot,  and  the  people 
rushing  out  of  the  doors  in  dismay;  the  moment  she 
saw  me  she  affected  innocence,  but  trembled  from  head 
to  foot.  I  drew  out  from  the  straw  a  thing  you  would 
have  taken  for  a  scarecrow,  or  a  bundle  of  rags.  It  was 
my  master,  M.  Huguet,  his  glossy  hat  battered,  his 
glossy  coat  stained  and  torn,  and  his  arm  broken  in  two 
places ;  a  moment  more,  and  her  foot  would  have  been 
on  him  and  his  soul  crushed  out  of  his  body. 

The  people  were  surprised  when  they  saw  the  furious. 


116 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


snorting  monster  creep  into  a  corner  to  escape  a  little 
fellow  five  feet  four,  who  got  to  the  old  weapon,  pitchfork, 
and  drove  it  into  every  part  of  her  but  her  head.  She  hid 
that  in  the  corner  the  moment  she  saw  blood  in  my  eye. 

We  got  poor  M.  Huguet  to  bed,  and  a  doctor  from  the 
hospital  to  him,  and  a  sorrowful  time  he  had  of  it ;  and 
so  after  standing  good  for  twelve  years,  lump  sugar  fell 
to  the  ground.    Pitchfork  held  good. 

At  night  more  than  a  hundred  people  came  to  see 
whether  I  was  really  so  hardy  as  to  sleep  with  this 
ferocious  animal.  To  show  them  my  sense  of  her,  I  lay 
down  between  her  legs.  On  this  she  lifted  her  fore- 
feet singly,  and  with  the  utmost  care  and  delicacy  drew 
them  back  over  my  body. 

As  soon  as  M.  Huguet's  arm  was  set,  and  doing  well, 
he  followed  us  —  (we  had  got  into  France  by  this  time), 
and  came  in  along  with  the  public  to  admire  us,  and,  to 
learn  how  the  elephant  stood  affected  towards  him  now, 
he  cried  out  in  his  most  ingratiating  way  —  in  sugared 
tones  —  "Djek,  my  boy,  Djek."  At  this  sound  Djek 
raised  a  roar  of  the  most  infernal  rage,  and  Huguet, 
who  knew  her  real  character  well  enough,  though  he  pre- 
tended not  to,  comprehended  that  her  heart  was  now  set 
upon  his  extinction,  malgre  twelve  years  of  lump  sugar. 

He  sent  for  me,  and  with  many  expressions  of  friend- 
ship offered  me  the  invaluable  animal  for  thirty  thou- 
sand francs.  I  declined  her  without  thanks.  "  Then  I 
shall  have  the  pleasure  of  killing  her  to-morrow,"  said 
the  Frenchman,  "  and  what  will  become  of  your  salary, 
mon  pauvre  gargon  ?  " 

In  short,  he  had  me  in  a  fix,  and  used  his  power.  I 
bought  her  of  him  for  twenty  thousand  francs,  to  be 
paid  by  instalments.  I  gave  him  the  first  instalment, 
a  five-franc  piece,  and  walked  out  of  the  wine-shop  her 
sole  proprietor. 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


117 


The  sense  of  property  is  pleasant,  even  when  we  have 
not  paid  for  the  article. 

That  night  I  formed  my  plans ;  there  was  no  time  to 
lose,  because  I  had  only  a  thousand  francs  in  the  world, 
and  she  ate  a  thousand  francs  a  week,  or  nearly.  I 
determined  to  try  Germany,  a  poor  country,  but  one 
which  being  quite  inland  could  not  have  become  callous 
to  an  elephant,  perhaps  had  never  seen  one.  I  shall 
never  forget  the  fine  clear  morning  I  started  on  my  own 
account.  The  sun  was  just  rising,  the  birds  were  tuning, 
and  all  manner  of  sweet  smells  came  from  the  fields 
and  the  hedges.  Djek  seemed  to  step  out  more  majestic- 
ally than  when  she  was  another  man's ;  my  heart  beat 
high.  Eleven  years  ago  I  had  started  the  meanest  of 
her  slaves,  I  had  worked  slowly,  painfully,  but  steadily 
up,  and  now  I  was  actually  her  lord  and  master,  and  half 
the  world  before  me  with  the  sun  shining  on  it. 

The  first  town  I  showed  her  at  as  mine  was  Verdun, 

and  the  next  day  I  wrote  to  Mademoiselle  at  Paris, 

to  tell  her  of  the  change  in  my  fortunes  This  was  the 
only  letter  I  had  sent ;  for  we  parted  bad  friends.  I 
received  a  kinder  answer  than  the  abrupt  tone  of  my 
letter  deserved.  She  congratulated  me  and  thanked  me 
for  remembering  that  whatever  good-fortune  befell  me 
must  give  her  particular  pleasure,  and  in  the  postscript 
she  told  me  she  was  just  about  to  leave  Paris  and  return 
to  her  parents  in  Switzerland. 

Djek  crossed  into  Prussia,  tramped  that  country,  and 
penetrated  into  the  heart  of  Germany.  As  I  had 
hoped,  she  descended  on  this  nation  with  ad  the  charm 
of  novelty,  and  used  to  clear  the  copper 1  out  of  a  whole 
village.  I  remember  early  in  this  trip  being  at  a  coun- 
try  inn.    I  saw  rustics  male  and  female  dressed  in  their 

1  Germany  is  mostly  made  of  copper.  A  bucketful  of  farthings  was  a 
common  thing  for  me  to  have  in  my  carriage. 
22 


118 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


Sunday  clothes  coming  over  the  hills  from  every  side  to 
one  point.  I  thought  there  must  be  a  fair  or  something. 
I  asked  the  landlord  what  they  were  all  coming  for. 
He  said,  "  Why,  you,  to  be  sure."  They  never  saw  such 
a  thing  in  their  lives,  and  never  will  again. 

In  fact,  at  one  or  two  small  places  we  were  stopped 
by  the  authorities,  who  had  heard  that  we  carried  more 
specie  out  of  little  towns  than  the  circulating  medium 
would  bear. 

In  short,  my  first  coup  was  successful.  After  six 
months'  Germany,  Bavaria,  Prussia,  etc.,  I  returned  to 
the  Ehine  at  Strasburg  with  eight  thousand  francs. 
During  all  this  time  she  never  hurt  a  soul,  I  watched 
her  so  fearfully  close.  So,  being  debarred  from  murder, 
she  tried  arson. 

At  a  place  in  Bavaria  her  shed  was  suddenly  observed 
to  be  in  flames,  and  we  saved  her  with  difficulty. 

The  cause  never  transpired  until  now;  but  I  saw 
directly  how  it  had  been  done :  I  had  unwarily  left  my 
coat  in  her  way.  The  pockets  were  found  emptied  of  all 
their  contents,  amongst  which  was  a  lucif er-box,  fragments 
of  which  I  found  amongst  the  straw.  She  had  played 
with  this  in  her  trunk,  hammering  it  backwards  and  for- 
wards against  her  knee,  dropping  the  lighted  matches 
into  the  straw  when  they  stung  her,  and  very  nearly 
roasted  her  own  beef,  the  mischievous,  uneasy  devil. 

My  readers  will  not  travel  with  an  elephant,  but  busi- 
ness of  some  sort  will  fall  to  the  lot  of  them  soon  or 
late,  and  as  charlatanry  is  the  very  soul  of  modern  busi- 
ness, it  may  not  be  amiss  to  show  how  the  humble 
artisan  worked  his  elephant. 

We  never  allowed  ourselves  to  drop  casually  upon  any 
place  like  a  shower  of  rain. 

A  man  in  bright  livery,  green  and  gold,  mounted  on  a 
showy  horse,  used  to  ride  into  the  town  or  village,  and 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


119 


go  round  to  all  the  inns  making  loud  inquiries  about 
their  means  of  accommodation  for  the  elephant  and  her 
train.  Four  hours  after  him,  the  people  being  now  a 
little  agog,  another  green-and-gold  man  came  in  on  a 
trained  horse,  and  inquired  for  No.  1 ;  as  soon  as  he  had 
found  him,  the  two  rode  together  round  the  town,  No.  2 
blowing  a  trumpet  and  proclaiming  the  elephant,  the 
nations  she  had  instructed  in  the  wonders  of  nature ; 
the  kings  she  had  amused;  her  grandeur,  her  intelli- 
gence, and  above  all  her  dove-like  disposition. 

This  was  allowed  to  ferment  for  some  hours,  and, 
when  expectation  was  at  its  height,  the  rest  of  the  cav- 
alcade used  to  heave  in  sight  —  Djek  bringing  up  the 
rear.  Arrived  I  used  to  shut  her  in  out  of  sight,  and 
send  all  my  men  and  horses  round,  parading,  trumpeting, 
and  pasting  bills ;  so  that  at  last  the  people  were  quite 
ripe  for  her,  and  then  we  went  to  work.  And  thus  the 
humble  artisan  and  his  elephant  cut  a  greater  dash  than 
lions  and  tigers  and  mountebanks  and  quacks,  and  drew 
more  money. 

Here  is  one  of  my  programmes  :  only  I  must  remark 
that  I  picked  up  my  French  where  I  picked  up  the  sin- 
cerity it  embodies,  in  the  circuses,  coulisses,  and  caba- 
rets of  French  towns ;  so  that  I  can  patter  French  as 
fast  as  you  like,  but  of  course  I  know  no  more  about  it 
than  a  pig  —  not  to  really  know  it. 

Par  permission  de  M.  le  Maire. 
Le  grand 
ELEPHANT 
du  Roi  de  Siam 
Du  Cirque  Olympique  Franconi. 
Mademoiselle  Djek, 

Elephant  colossal,  de  onze  pieds  de  hauteur  et  du  poids  de 
neuf  mille  liv.,  est  le  plus  grand  elephant  que  Ton  ait  vu  en 
Europe. 


120 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


M.  H.  B.  Lott,  naturaliste,  pourvoyeur  des  menageries  des 
diverses  cours  d'Europe,  aetionnaire  du  Cirque  Oiympique  et 
proprietaire  de  ce  magnifique  elephant,  quil  a  dresse  au  point 
de  le  presenter  au  public  dans  une  piece  theatrale  qui  fut  creee 
pour  Mademoiselle  Djek  il  y  a  trois  ans  et  demi,  et  qui  a  eu 
uu  si  grand  succes,  sous  le  nom  de  TElepliant  du  Eoi  de 
Siam. 

Le  proprietaire,  dans  son  voyage  autour  du  monde,  eut  oc- 
casion d'acheter  cet  enorme  quadrupede,  qui  le  prit  en  affec- 
tion, et  qui,  depuis  onze  ans  quil  le  possede,  ne  s'est  jamais 
dementi,  se  plait  a  ecouter  son  maitre  et  execute  avec  punctu- 
ality tout  ce  qu'il  lui  indique  de  faire. 

Mademoiselle  Djek,  qui  est  dans  toute  la  force  de  sa  taille 
a  maintenant  cent  vingt-cinq  ans ;  elle  a  onze  pieds  de  hauteur 
—  et  pese  neuf  mille  livres. 

Sa  consommation  dans  les  vingt-quatre  heures  excede  deux 
cent  livres  —  quarante  livres  de  pain  pour  son  dejeuner:  a 
midi.  du  son  et  de  Tavoine ;  le  soir,  des  pommes-de-terre  ou 
du  riz  cuit ;  et  la  nuit  du  foin  et  de  la  paille. 

C'est  le  meme  elephant  qui  a  combattu  la  lionne  de  M. 
Martin.  Cette  lionne  en  furie,  qu'une  imprudence  fit  sortir  de 
sa  cage,  s'elance  sur  M.  H.  B.  Lott  qui  se  trouvait  aupres  de 
son  elephant  ;  voyant  le  danger  il  se  refugie  derriere  une  des 
jambes  de  ce  bon  animal,  qui  releve  sa  trompe  pour  le  pro- 
teger.1  La  lionne  allait  saisir  M.  H.  B.  Lott;  Telephant  la 
voit.  rabat  sa  trompe,  Lenveloppe,  Tetouffe,  la  jette  a  loin,  et 
Taurait  ecrasee,  si  son  maitre  ne  lui  eut  dit  de  ne  pas  continuer. 

Elle  a  ensuite  allonge  sa  trompe,  frappe  du  pied,  criant  et 
temoignant  la  satisfaction,  qu'elle  eprouvait  d'avoir  sauve  son 
ami  d'une  mort  certaine,  comme  on  a  pu  voir  dans  les  journaux 
en  fevi'ier  1832. 

Dans  les  cours  des  seances,  on  lui  fera  faire  tous  ses  grands 
exercices  qui  sont  dignes  d'admiration,  dont  le  grand  nombre 
ne  pennet  pas  d"en  donner  Lanalyse  dans  cette  affiche,  et  qu^l 
faut  voir  pour  Ten  faire  une  idee  juste. 

Prix  d'entree  :    Premieres  Secondes 
Les  mihtaires  et  les  enfants,  moitie. 

1  I  am  a  dull  fellow  now,  as  you  see.  But  you  must  allow  I  have  been  a 
man  of  imagination. 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


121 


1  don't  think  but  what  my  countrymen  will  under- 
stand every  word  of  the  above,  but  as  there  are  a  great 
number  of  Frenchmen  in  London  who  will  read  this,  I 
think  it  would  look  unkind  not  to  translate  it  into  Eng- 
lish for  their  benefit. 

By  permission  of  the  Worshipful  the  Mayor 
the  great 
ELEPHANT 
of  the  King  of  Siam 
From  Franconi's  Olympic  Circus. 
Mademoiselle  Djek, 
Colossal  elephant,  eleven  feet  high  and  weighs  nine  thousand 
pounds.    The  largest  elephant  ever  seen  in  Europe. 

Mr.  H.  B.  Lott,  naturalist,  who  supplies  the  menageries  of 
the  various  courts  of  Europe,  shareholder  in  the  Olympic 
Circus,  and  proprietor  of  this  magnificent  elephant,  which  he 
has  trained  to  such  a  height  that  he  will  present  her  to  the 
public  in  a  dramatic  piece  which  was  written  for  her  three 
years  and  a  half  ago  and  had  a  great  success  under  the  title  of 
the  Elephant  of  the  King  of  Siam.1 

The  proprietor,  in  his  voyage  round  the  globe,  was  fortu- 
nate enough  to  purchase  this  enormous  quadruped,  which 
became  attached  to  him,  and  has  been  eleven  years  in  his  pos- 
session, during  which  time  she  has  never  once  forgotten  her- 
self and  executes  with  obedient  zeal  whatever  he  bids  her. 

Mademoiselle  Djek  has  now  arrived  at  her  full  growth,  being 
one  hundred  and  twenty-five  years  of  age :  she  is  eleven  feet 
high  and  weighs  nine  thousand  pounds.  Her  daily  consump- 
tion exceeds  two  hundred  pounds :  she  takes  forty  pounds  of 
bread  for  her  breakfast,  at  noon  barley  and  oats,  in  the  even- 
ing potatoes  or  rice  cooked,  and  at  night  hay  and  straw. 

This  is  the  same  elephant  that  fought  with  Mr.  Martin's 
lioness.    The  lioness,  whom  the  carelessness  of  the  attendants 

1  My  literary  gent  and  me  we  nearly  had  words  over  this  bit.  "  Why.  it  is 
all  nominative  case,"  says  he.  "  Well,"  says  1,  "  you  can't  have  too  much  of 
a  good  thing.  Can  you  better  it?"  says  I.  "Better  it,"  says  he,  "  why,  I 
could  not  have  come  within  a  mile  of  it ;  "  and  he  grinned :  so  I  shut  him  up 
—  for  once. 


122 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


allowed  to  escape  from  her  cage,  dashed  furiously  at  Mr.  H. 
B.  Lott;  fortunately  he  was  near  his  elephant,  and  seeing  the 
danger  took  refuge  behind  one  of  the  legs  of  that  valuable 
animal ;  she  raised  her  trunk  in  her  masters  defence.  The 
lioness  made  to  seize  him :  but  the  elephant  lowered  her  trunk, 
seized  the  lioness,  choked  her,  flung  her  to  a  distance  and 
would  have  crushed  her  to  death  if  Mr.  Lott  had  not  com- 
manded her  to  desist.  After  that  she  extended  her  trunk, 
stamped  with  her  foot,  trumpeting  and  showing  her  satisfac- 
tion, at  having  saved  her  friend  from  certain  death;  full 
accounts  of  which  are  to  be  seen  in  the  journals  of  Februarv, 
1832. 

In  the  course  of  the  exhibition  she  will  go  through  all  her 
exercises,  which  are  wonderful,  and  so  numerous  that  it  is 
impossible  to  enumerate  them  in  this  bill :  they  must  be  seen 
to  form  a  just  idea  of  them. 

Prices  :  First  places  Second 
Soldiers  and  children  half-price. 

Djek  and  I  used  to  make  our  bow  to  our  audiences  in 
the  following  fashion  :  I  came  on  with  her  and  said, 
"  Otez  mon  chapeau  pour  saluer :  "  then  she  used  to  take 
off  my  hat,  wave  it  gracefully  and  replace  it  on  my  head 
—  she  then  proceeded  to  pick  up  twenty-five-franc  pieces 
one  after  another  and  keep  them  piled  in  the  extremity 
of  her  trunk.  She  also  fired  pistols,  and  swept  her  den 
with  a  broom  in  a  most  pains-taking  and  ludicrous  way. 

But  perhaps  her  best  business  in  a  real  judge's  eye 
was  drinking  a  bottle  of  wine.  The  reader  will  better 
estimate  this  feat  if  he  will  fancy  himself  an  elephant 
and  lay  down  the  book  now  and  ask  himself  how  he 
would  do  it  —  and  read  the  following  afterwards. 

The  bottle  (cork  drawn)  stood  before  her.  She  placed 
the  finger  and  thumb  of  her  proboscis  on  the  mouth, 
made  a  vacuum  by  suction,  and  then,  suddenly  inverting 
the  bottle,  she  received  the  contents  in  her  trunk ;  the 
difficulty  now  was  to  hold  the  bottle,  which  she  would 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


123 


not  have  broken  for  a  thousand  pounds  (my  lady  thought 
less  of  killing  ten  men  than  breaking  a  saucer)  and  yet 
not  let  the  liquor  run  from  her  flesh-pipe.  She  rapidly 
shifted  her  hold  to  the  centre  of  the  bottle,  and  worked 
it  by  means  of  the  wrinkles  in  her  proboscis  to  the  bend 
of  it.  Then  she  griped  it,  and  at  the  same  time  curled 
round  her  trunk  into  a  sloping  position  and  let  the  wine 
run  down  her  throat.  This  done,  she  resumed  the  first 
position  of  her  trunk,  and  worked  the  bottle  back  towards 
her  finger,  suddenly  snapped  hold  of  it  by  the  neck,  and 
handed  it  gracefully  to  me. 

With  this  exception  it  was  not  her  public  tricks  that 
astonished  me  most.  The  principle  of  all  these  tricks 
is  one.  An  animal  is  taught  to  lay  hold  of  things  at 
command,  and  to  shift  them  from  one  place  to  another. 
You  vary  the  thing  to  be  laid  hold  of,  but  the  act  is  the 
same.  In  her  drama,  which  was  so  effective  on  the 
stage,  Djek  did  nothing  out  of  the  way.  She  merely 
went  through  certain  mechanical  acts  at  a  word  of  com- 
mand from  her  keeper,  who  was  unseen  or  unnoticed,  i.e., 
he  was  either  at  the  wing  in  his  fustian  jacket,  or  on 
the  stage  with  her  in  gimcrack  and  gold  as  one  of  a  lot 
of  slaves  or  courtiers  or  what  not.  Between  ourselves, 
a  single  trick  I  have  several  times  caught  her  doing  on 
her  own  account  proved  more  for  her  intelligence  than 
all  these.  She  used  to  put  her  eye  to  a  keyhole.  Ay, 
that  she  would,  and  so  watch  for  hours  to  see  what 
devil's  trick  she  could  do  with  impunity  —  she  would 
see  me  out  of  the  way  and  then  go  to  work.  Where 
there  was  no  keyhole,  I  have  seen  her  pick  the  knot  out 
of  a  deal  board,  and  squint  through  the  little  hole  she 
had  thus  made. 

A  dog  comes  next  to  an  elephant :  but  he  is  not  up  to 
looking  through  a  keyhole,  or  a  crack.  He  can  think  of 
nothing  better  than  snuffing  under  the  door. 


124 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


At  one  place,  being  under  a  granary,  she  worked  a 
hole  in  the  ceiling,  no  bigger  than  a  thimble,  and  sucked 
down  sackfuls  of  grain  before  she  was  found  out.  Talk 
of  the  half -reasoning  elephant :  she  seldom  met  a  man 
that  could  match  her  in  reasoning  —  to  a  bad  end.  Her 
weak  points  were  her  cruelty  and  cowardice,  and  by  this 
latter  Tom  Elliot  and  I  governed  her  with  a  rod  of  iron, 
vulgarly  called  a  pitchfork.  If  a  mouse  pottered  about 
the  floor  in  her  stable,  Djek  used  to  tremble  all  over, 
and  whine  with  terror  till  the  little  monster  was  gone. 
A  ton  shaken  by  an  ounce. 

I  have  seen  her  start  back  in  dismay  from  a  small 
feather  floating  in  the  air.  If  her  heart  had  been  as 
stout  as  her  will  to  do  mischief  was  strong,  mankind 
must  have  risen  to  put  her  down. 

Almost  all  you  have  ever  heard  about  the  full-grown 
elephant's  character  is  a  pack  of  falsities.  They  are 
your  servants  by  fear,  or  they  are  your  masters.  Two 
years  ago  an  elephant  killed  his  keeper  at  Liverpool 
or  Manchester,  I  forget  which.  Out  came  the  Times  : 
he  had  pronged  him  six  weeks  before.  How  well  I  knew 
the  old  lie ;  it  seldom  varies  a  syllable.  That  man  died, 
not  because  he  had  pronged  the  animal,  but  because  he 
hadn't,  or  not  enough. 

Spare  the  pitchfork  —  spoil  the  elephant. 

There  is  another  animal  people  misconstrue  just 
as  bad. 

The  hyena. 

Terrible  fierce  animal  the  hyena,  says  Buffon  and  Co. ; 
and  the  world  echoes  the  chant. 

Fierce ;  are  they  ?  You  get  a  score  of  them  together 
in  a  yard,  and  you  shall  see  me  walk  into  the  lot  with 
nothing  but  a  switch,  and  them  try  to  get  between  the 
brick  and  the  mortar  with  the  funk,  that  is  how  fierce 
they  are  :  and  they  are  not  only  cowardly,  but  innocent, 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


125 


and  affectionate  into  the  bargain  is  the  fierce  hyena  of 
Buffon  and  Co.  :  but  indeed  wild  animals  are  sadly  mis- 
understood. It  is  pitiable  :  and  those  that  have  the  best 
character  deserve  it  less  than  those  that  have  the  worst. 

In  one  German  town  I  met  with  something  I  should 
like  to  tell  the  sporting  gents,  for  I  don't  think  there  is 
many  that  ever  fell  in  with  such  a  thing.  But  it  is  an 
old  saying  that  what  does  happen  has  happened  before, 
and  may  again,  so  I  tell  this  to  put  them  on  their 
guard,  especially  in  Germany.  Well,  it  was  a  good 
town  for  business,  and  we  stayed  several  days :  but  before 
we  had  been  there  many  hours  my  horses  turned  queer. 
Kestless  they  were  and  uneasy.  Sweated  of  their  own 
accord.  Stamped  eternally.  One  in  particular  began  to 
lose  flesh.  We  examined  the  hay.  It  seemed  particu- 
larly good,  and  the  oats  not  amiss.  Called  the  landlord 
in,  and  asked  him  if  he  could  account  for  it.  He  stands 
looking  at  them  :  this  one  called  Dick  was  all  in  a 
lather.  "  Well,  I  think  I  know  now,"  said  he  ;  "  they 
are  bewitched.  You  see  there  is  an  old  woman  in  the 
next  street  that  bewitches  cattle,  and  she  rides  on  your 
horses'  backs  all  night,  you  may  take  your  oath."  Then 
he  tells  us  a  lot  of  stories,  whose  cow  died  after  giving 
this  old  wench  a  rough  word,  and  how  she  had  been 
often  seen  to  go  across  the  meadows  in  the  shape  of  a 
hare.  "  She  has  a  spite  against  me,  the  old  sorceress," 
says  he.  "  She  has  been  at  them ;  you  had  better  send 
for  the  pastor."  —  "  Go  for  the  farrier,  Jem,"  says  I.  So 
we  had  in  the  farrier.  He  sat  on  the  bin  and  smoked 
his  pipe  in  dead  silence,  looking  at  them.  "  They  seem 
a  little  fidgety,"  says  he,  after  about  half  an  hour.  So 
I  turned  him  out  of  the  stable.  And  I  was  in  two 
minds  about  punching  his  head,  I  was.  "  Send  for  the 
veterinary  surgeon  No.  1."  He  came.  "  They  have  got 
some  disorder,"  says  he  —  "  that  is  plain ;  nosteils  are 


126 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


slear,  too.  Let  me  see  them  eat."  They  took  their 
food  pretty  well.  Then  he  asked  where  we  came  from 
last.  I  told  him.  '•'  Well/'7  said  he.  cheerfully,  "  this  is 
a  murrain.  I  think.  In  this  country  we  do  invent  a  new 
murrain  about  every  twenty  years.  We  are  about  due 
now."  He  spoke  English,  this  one,  quite  a  fine  gentle- 
man. One  of  the  grooms  put  in.  I  think  the  water  is 
poisoned.''' —  ••  Anyway."  says  another,  "Dick  will  die  if 
we  stay  here."  So  then  they  both  pressed  me  to  leave 
the  town.  "  You  know,  governor,  we  can't  afford  to  lose 
the  horses.''  Xow  I  was  clearing  ten  pounds  a  day  in  the 
place,  and  all  expenses  paid.  So  I  looked  blank.  So 
did  the  veterinary.  UI  wouldn't  go,"  says  he,  -'wait  a 
day  or  two  :  then  the  disease  will  declare  itself,  and  we 
shall  know  what  we  are  doing."  You  see,  gents,  he  did 
not  relish  my  taking  a  murrain  out  of  his  town,  he  was 
a  veterinary.  "  Whatever  it  is,"  says  he,  "  you  brought 
it  with  you."  —  "  Well,  now,"  said  I,  u  my  opinion  is,  I 
found  it  here.  Did  you  notice  anything  at  the  last 
place,  Nick  ?  "  —  ••Xo,"  the  grooms  both  bore  me  out. 
u  Oh !  "  says  the  vet.,  "  you  can't  go  by  that :  it  had 
not  declared  itself."  Well,  will  you  believe  me  (I  often 
laugh  when  I  think  of  it),  it  was  not  two  minutes  after 
he  said  that,  that  it  did  declare  itself.  It  was  Sunday 
morning,  and  Xick  had  got  a  clean  shirt  on.  Nick  was 
currying  the  very  horse  called  Dick,  when  all  of  a 
sudden  the  sleeve  of  his  white  shirt  looked  dirty. 
••  What  now  ?  "  cries  he,  and  comes  to  the  light.  "  I  do 
believe  it  is  vermin,"  says  he,  "  and  if  it  is,  they  are 
eaten  up  with  it." —  "  Vermin  ?  What  vermin  can  that 
be  ?  "  said  I,  "  have  we  invented  a  new  vermin  too  ?  " 
They  were  no  bigger  than  pins'  points,  looked  like  dust 
on  his  shirt.  "  What  do  you  say,  sir  ?  is  it  vermin  ?  " 
—  "  Not  a  doubt  of  it,"  says  the  vet.  "  These  are 
poultry -lice,  unless  I  am  mistaken.    Have  you  any  hens 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


127 


anywhere  near  ?  "  Both  the  grooms  burst  out,  "  Hens  ? 
why,  there  are  full  a  hundred  up  in  the  hay-loft."  So 
that  was  the  murrain.  The  hens  had  been  tumbling  in 
the  hay :  the  hay  came  down  to  the  rack  all  alive  with 
their  vermin :  and  the  vermin  were  eating  the  horses. 
We  stopped  that  supply  of  hay  ;  and  what  with  curry- 
ing, and  washing  with  a  solution  the  vet.  gave  us,  we 
cured  that  murrain  —  chicken-pox,  if  any.  We  had  a 
little  scene  at  going  away  from  this  place.  Landlord 
had  agreed  to  charge  nothing  for  the  use  of  stabling; 
we  spent  so  much  in  other  ways  with  him.  In  spite  of 
that  he  put  it  down  at  the  foot  of  the  list.  I  would  not 
pay.  "  You  must."  —  "I  won't."  —  "  Then  you  sha'n't 
go  till  you  do ;  "  and  with  that  he  and  his  servants 
closed  the  great  gates.  The  yard  was  entered  by  two 
great  double  doors,  like  barn-doors,  secured  outside  by  a 
stout  beam.  So  there  he  had  us  fast.  It  got  wind,  and 
there  was  the  whole  population  hooting  outside,  three 
thousand  strong.  Then  it  was,  "  Come,  don't  be  a  fool." 
"Don't  you  be  a  fool." 

"  Stand  clear,"  said  I  to  the  man,  "  we  will  alter  our 
usual  line  of  march  this  time ;  I'll  take  Djek  from  the 
rear  to  the  front."  So  they  all  formed  behind  me  and 
Djek,  two  carriages  and  six  horses,  all  in  order.  "Now," 
said  I,  "landlord,  you  have  had  your  joke:  open  the 
door,  and  let  us  part  friends ;  we  have  been  with  you  a 
week,  you  know,  and  you  have  had  one  profit  out  of  us, 
and  another  out  of  the  townsfolk  we  brought  to  your 
bar  —  open  the  door." 

"Pay  me  my  bill,  and  I'll  open,"  says  he.  "If  I 
turned  away  one  traveller  from  my  stable  for  you,  I've 
turned  away  twenty." 

"  A  bargain  is  a  bargain.  Will  you  open  ?  before  she 
knocks  your  door  into  toothpicks." 

"  Oh !  I'll  risk  my  door  if  you'll  risk  your  beast.  No  J 
I  won't  open  till  I  am  paid." 


128 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


"  Once,  will  you  open  ?  " 
"No." 

"  Twice,  will  you  open  ?  —  Thrice  ? 99 
"  No." 

"Djek  —  go  !" 

She  walked  lazily  at  the  door  as  if  she  did  not  see  it. 
The  moment  she  touched  it,  both  doors  were  in  the  road, 
the  beam  was  in  half  in  the  road ;  most  times  one  thing 
stands,  another  goes  :  here  it  all  went  bodily  on  all  sides 
like  paper  on  a  windy  day,  and  the  people  went  fastest 
of  all.  There  was  the  yell  of  a  multitude  under  our 
noses,  then  an  empty  street  under  our  eyes.  We 
marched  on  calm,  majestical,  and  unruffled,  beneath  the 
silent  night. 

Doors  and  bolts,  indeed  —  to  a  lady  that  had  stepped 
through  a  brick  wall  before  that  day,  an  English  brick 
wall. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

From  Strasburg  I  determined  to  go  into  Switzerland : 
above  all  to  Geneva  —  I  could  Dot  help  it;  in  due  course 
of  time  and  travel  I  arrived  near  Geneva,  and  I  sent 
forward  my  green-and-gold  avant-couriers.  But  alas ! 
they  returned  with  the  doleful  news  that  elephants  were 
not  admitted  into  that  ancient  city.  The  last  elephant 
that  had  been  there  had  done  mischief,  and,  at  the 
request  of  its  proprietor,  Mademoiselle  Gamier,  a  young 
lady  whose  conscience  smote  her,  for  she  had  had 
another  elephant  that  killed  one  or  two  people  in  Venice, 
was  publicly  executed  in  the  fortress.1 

1  They  gave  this  elephant  an  ounce  of  prussic  acid  and  an  ounce  of  arsenic : 
neither  of  these  sedatives  producing  any  effect,  they  fired  a  cannon-ball 
through  her  neck. 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


129 


Fortunately  (as  I  then  thought),  I  had  provided 
myself  with  testimonials  from  the  mayor  and  governors 
of  some  score  of  towns  through  which  we  had  passed. 
I  produced  these,  and  made  friends  in  the  town,  particu- 
larly with  a  Dr.  Mayo.  At  last  we  were  admitted. 
Djek  was  proved  a  dove  by  such  overpowering  testi- 
mony. I  had  now  paid  M.  Huguet  six  thousand  francs, 
and  found  myself  possessed  of  five  thousand  more. 
Business  was  very  good  in  Geneva.  Djek  very  popular. 
Her  intelligence  and  amiability  became  a  byword.  I 
had  but  one  bitter  disappointment,  though.  Mademoi- 
selle  never  came  to  see  us,  and  I  was  too  sulky  and 

too  busy  to  hunt  for  her.  Besides,  I  said  to  myself, 
"  All  the  world  can  find  me,  and  if  she  cared  a  button 
for  me  she  would  come  to  light."  I  tried  to  turn  it  off 
with  the  old  song,— 

"  Now  get  ye  gone,  ye  scornful  dame, 
If  you  are  proud,  I'll  be  the  same, 
I  make  no  doubt  but  1  shall  find 
As  pretty  a  girl  unto  my  mind." 

Behold  me  now  at  the  climax  of  prosperity,  dressed 
like  a  gentleman,  driving  a  pair  of  horses,  proprietor  of 
a  whole  cavalcade,  and  of  an  elephant,  and,  after  clear- 
ing all  expenses,  making  at  the  rate  of  full  six  hundred 
pounds  per  annum.  There  was  a  certain  clergyman  of 
the  place  used  to  visit  us  about  every  day  and  bring  her 
cakes  and  things  to  eat,  till  he  got  quite  fond  of  her,  and 
believed  that  she  returned  his  affection.  I  used  to  beg 
him  not  to  go  so  close  to  her;  on  this  his  answer  was, 
"Why,  you  say  she  is  harmless  as  a  chicken,"  so  then 
I  had  no  more  to  say.  Well,  one  unlucky  day,  I  turned 
my  back  for  a  moment ;  before  I  could  get  back,  there 
were  the  old  sounds,  a  snort  of  rage,  and  a  cry  of  terror, 
and  there  was  the  poor  minister  in  her  trunk.    At  sight 


130 


JACK  OF  ALL  TEADES. 


of  me  she  dropped  him,  but  two  of  his  ribs  were  broken, 
and  he  was  quite  insensible,  and  the  people  rushed  out 
in  terror.  We  raised  the  clergyman  and  carried  him 
home,  and  in  half  an  hour  a  mob  was  before  the  door, 
and  stones  as  big  as  your  fists  thrown  in  at  the  windows ; 
this,  however,  was  stopped  by  the  authorities.  But  the 
next  day  my  lady  was  arrested  and  walked  off  to  the 
fortress,  and  there  confined.  I  remonstrated,  expostu- 
lated —  in  vain.  I  had  now  to  feed  her,  and  no  return 
from  her ;  ruin  stared  me  in  the  face.  So  I  went  to  law 
with  the  authorities.  Law  is  slow,  and  Djek  was  eating 
all  the  time.  Euin  looked  nearer  still.  The  law  ate 
my  green-and-gold  servants  and  my  horses,  and  still 
Djek  remained  in  quod.  Then  I  refused  to  feed  her 
any  longer;  and  her  expenses  fell  upon  the  town.  Her 
appetite  and  their  poverty  soon  brought  matters  to  a 
climax.  They  held  a  sort  of  municipal  tr'bunal,  and 
tried  her  for  an  attempt  at  homicide.  I  got  counsel  to 
defend  her,  for  I  c  .strusted  my  own  temper  and  French. 

I  can't  remember  half  the  fine  things  he  said,  but 
there  was  one  piece  of  common-sense  I  do  remember ;  he 
said,  "The  animal  I  believe  is  unconscious  of  her  gveat 
strength,  and  has  committed  a  fatal  error  rather  than  a 
crime ;  still,  if  you  think  she  is  liable  to  make  such 
errors,  let  her  die  rather  than  kill  men.  But  how  do 
you  reconcile  to  your  consciences  to  punish  her  proprie- 
tor, to  rob  him  of  his  subsistence  ?  He  has  committed 
no  crime,  he  has  been  guilty  of  no  want  of  caution.  If, 
therefore,  you  take  upon  yourselves  to  punish  the  brute, 
be  honest !  buy  her  of  the  man  first,  and  then  assert 
your  sublime  office  —  destroy  an  animal  that  has  offended 
morality.  But  a  city  should  be  above  wronging  or  rob- 
bing an  individual."  When  he  sat  down  I  thought  my 
homicide  was  safe,  for  I  knew  Geneva  could  not  afford 
to  buy  an  elephant,  without  it  was  out  of  a  Noah's  ark. 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


131 


But  up  gets  an  orator  on  the  other  side  and  attacked 
me ;  accused  me  of  false  representations,  of  calling  a 
demon  a  duck.  "We  have  certain  information  from 
France  that  this  elephant  has  been  always  wounding 
and  killing  men  up  and  down  Europe  these  twenty  years. 
Monsieur  Lott  knew  this  by  universal  report  and  by 
being  an  eye-witness  of  more  than  one  man's  destruction," 
—  here  there  was  a  sensation,  I  can  tell  you.  "  He  has, 
therefore,  forfeited  all  claims  to  consideration."  Then 
he  thundered  out,  "Let  no  man  claim  to  be  wiser  than 
Holy  Writ ;  there  we  are  told  that  a  lie  is  a  crime  of  the 
very  deepest  dye,  and  here  we  see  how  for  years  false- 
hood has  been  murder."  Then  I  mind  he  took  just  the 
opposite  line  to  my  defender.  Says  he,  "  If  I  hesitate 
for  a  moment  it  is  not  for  the  man's  sake,  but  for  the 
brute's  :  but  I  do  not  hesitate.  I  could  wish  so  majestic 
a  creature  might  be  spared  for  our  instruction,"  says  he, 
"that  so  wonderful  a  specimen  of  the  Creator's  skill 
might  still  waxk  the  earth ;  but  reason  and  justice  and 
humanity  say  '  No.7  There  is  an  animal  far  smaller,  yet 
ten  times  more  important,  for  he  has  a  soul ;  and  this,  the 
king  of  all  the  animals,  is  not  safe  while  she  lives  :  there- 
fore she  ought  to  die  :  weaker  far  than  her  in  his  indi- 
vidual strength,  he  is  a  thousand  times  stronger  by 
combination  and  science,  therefore  she  will  die." 

When  this  infernal  chatterbox  shut  up,  my  heart  sank 
into  my  shoes.  He  was  a  prig,  but  an  eloquent  one,  and 
he  walked  into  Djek  and  me  till  we  were  not  worth  half 
an  hour's  purchase. 

For  all  that  the  council  did  not  come  to  a  decision  on 
the  spot,  and  I  believe  that  if  Djek  had  but  been  con- 
tent to  kill  the  laity  as  heretofore,  we  should  have 
scraped  through  with  a  fine  ;  but  the  fool  must  go  and 
tear  black  cloth,  and  dig  her  own  grave. 

Two  days  after  the  trial,  out  came  the  sentence — death. 


132 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


With  that  modesty  and  good  feeling  which  belongs  to 
most  foreign  governments,  they  directed  me  to  execute 
their  sentence. 

My  answer  came  in  English.    u  I'll  see  you  d  d  and 

double  d  d  first,  and  then  I  won't." 

Meantime  Huguet  was  persecuting  poor  heart-sick  me 
for  the  remainder  of  her  purchase-money,  and,  what  with 
the  delay,  the  expenses  and  the  anxiety,  I  was  so  down  and 
so  at  the  end  of  my  wits  and  my  patience  that  her  sentence 
fell  on  me  like  a  blow  on  a  chap  that  is  benumbed,  pro- 
duced less  effect  upon  me  at  the  time  than  it  does  when 
I  think  of  it  now. 

Well,  curse  them,  one  fine  morning  they  ran  a  cannon 
up  to  the  gate,  loaded  it,  and  bade  me  call  the  elephant, 
and  bring  her  into  a  favorable  position  for  being  shot. 
I  refused  point-blank  in  English  as  before.  They 
threatened  me  for  my  contumacy.  I  answered,  they 
might  shoot  me  if  they  liked,  but  I  would  not  be  the 
one  to  destroy  my  own  livelihood. 

So  they  had  to  watch  their  opportunity. 

It  was  not  long  of  coming. 

She  began  to  walk  about,  and  presently  the  poor  fool 
marched  right  up  to  the  cannon's  mouth  and  squinted 
down  it.  Then  she  turned,  and  at  last  she  crossed  right 
before  it.  The  gunner  took  the  opportunity,  applied  his 
linstock  and  fired.  There  was  a  great  tongue  of  flame 
and  a  cloud  of  smoke,  and  through  the  smoke  something 
as  big  as  a  house  was  seen  to  go  down ;  the  very  earth 
trembled  at  the  shock. 

The  smoke  cleared  in  a  moment,  and  there  lay  Djek. 
She  never  moved:  the  round  shot  went  clean  through 
her  body  and  struck  the  "opposite  wall  with  great  force. 
It  was  wonderful  and  sad,  to  see  so  huge  a  creature 
robbed  of  her  days  in  a  moment  by  a  spark.  There  she 
lay  —  poor  Djek! 


JACK  OF  ALL  TEADBS. 


133 


In  one  moment  I  forgot  all  her  faults.  She  was  an  old 
companion  of  mine  in  many  a  wet  day  and  dreary  night. 
She  was  reputation  to  me,  and  a  clear  six  hundred  a  year 
—  and  then  she  was  so  clever.  We  shall  never  see  her 
like  again,  and  there  she  lay.  I  mourned  over  her,  right 
or  wrong,  and  have  never  been  the  same  man  since  that 
shot  was  fired. 

The  butchery  done,  I  was  informed  by  the  municipal 
authorities  that  the  carcass  was  considered  upon  the 
whole  to  be  my  property.  The  next  moment  I  had  two 
hundred  applications  for  elephant-steaks  from  the  pinch- 
gut  natives,  who,  I  believe,  knew  gravy  by  tradition 
and  romances  that  had  come  all  the  way  from  Paris. 
Knives  and  scales  went  to  work,  and,  with  the  tears  run- 
ning down  my  cheeks,  I  sold  her  beef  at  four  sous  per 
pound  for  about  forty  pounds  sterling. 

This  done,  all  my  occupation  was  gone.  Geneva  was 
no  place  for  me,  and,  as  the  worthy  Huguet,  whose  life 
I  had  saved,  threatened  to  arrest  me,  I  determined  to  go 
back  to  England  and  handicraft.  Two  days  after  Djek's 
death  I  was  hanging  sorrowfully  over  the  bridge  when 
some  one  drew  near  to  me,  and  said  in  a  low  voice, 
"Monsieur  Lott."  I  had  no  need  to  look  up,  I  knew 
the  voice;  it  was  my  lost  sweetheart;  she  spoke  very 
kindly,  blushed,  and  welcomed  me  to  her  native  country. 
She  did  more :  she  told  me  she  lived  five  miles  from 
Geneva,  and  invited  me  to  visit  her  mother ;  she  took 
occasion  to  let  me  know  that  her  father  was  dead :  "  My 
mother  refuses  me  nothing,"  she  added,  with  another 
blush.  This  was  all  like  a  dream  to  me.  The  next  day 
I  visited  her  and  her  mother,  and  was  cordially  received : 
in  short,  it  was  made  clear  to  me  that  my  misfortune 
had  endeared  me  to  this  gem  of  a  girl  instead  of  repell- 
ing her.  An  uncle  too  had  died  and  left  her  three  hun- 
dred pounds,  and  this  made  her  bolder  still,  and  she  did 
23 


134 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


not  conceal  her  regard  for  me.  She  told  me  she  had 
seen  me  once  in  Geneva  driving  two  showy  horses  in  a 
carriage  and  looking  like  a  nobleman,  and  so  had  hesi- 
tated to  claim  the  acquaintance ;  but  hearing  the  ele- 
phant's execution,  and  guessing  that  I  could  no  longer 
be  on  the  high  road  to  fortune,  she  had  obeyed  her  heart 
and  been  the  first  to  remind  me  I  had  once  esteemed  her. 
In  short,  a  pearl. 

I  made  her  a  very  bad  return  for  so  much  goodness. 
I  went  and  married  her.  We  then  compounded  with 
Huguet  for  three  thousand  francs,  and  sailed  for  England 
to  begin  the  world  again. 

The  moment  I  got  to  London,  I  made  for  the  Seven 
Dials  to  see  my  friend  Paley. 

On  the  way  I  meet  a  mutual  acquaintance,  told  him 
where  I  was  going  —  red-hot. 

He  shook  his  head,  and  said  nothing. 

A  chill  came  over  me.  If  you  had  stuck  a  knife  in 
me  I  shouldn't  have  bled.  I  gasped  out  some  sort  of 
inquiry. 

"  Why,  you  know  he  was  not  a  young  man,"  says  he  ; 
and  he  looked  down. 

That  was  enough  for  such  an  unlucky  one  as  me.  I 
began  to  cry  directly.  "  Don't  ye  take  on,"  says  he. 
"  Old  man  died  happy.  Come  home  with  me ;  my  wife 
will  tell  you  more  about  it  than  I  can." 

I  was  loath  to  go,  but  he  persuaded  me.  His  wife 
told  me  the  old  gentleman  spoke  of  me  to  the  last,  and 
had  my  letters  read  out,  and  boasted  of  my  success. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  he  would  rise  ?  "  he  used  to  say, 
and  then  it  seems  he  made  much  of  some  little  presents 
I  had  sent  him  from  Paris  —  and  them  such  trifles  com- 
pared with  what  I  owed  him  ;  "  Doesn't  forget  old  friends 
now  he  is  at  the  top  of  the  tree,"  and  then  burst  out 
praising  me,  by  all  accounts. 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


135 


So  then  it  was  a  little  bit  of  comfort  to  think  he  had 
died  while  I  was  prosperous,  and  that  my  disappoint- 
ment had  never  reached  his  warm  and  feeling  heart. 

A  workman  has  little  time  to  grieve  outwardly.  He 
must  dry  his  eyes  quickly,  let  his  heart  be  ever  so  sad ; 
or  he'll  look  queer  when  Saturday  night  comes.  You 
can't  make  a  workman-like  joint  with  the  tear  in  your 
eye ;  one-half  the  joiners  can't  do  it  with  their  glasses 
on.  And  I  was  a  workman  once  more  ;  I  had  to  end  as 
I  began. 

I  returned  to  the  violin  trade,  and,  by  a  very  keen 
attention  to  its  mysteries,  I  made  progress,  and  having 
a  foreign  connection  I  imported  and  sold  to  English 
dealers,  as  well  as  made,  varnished,  and  doctored  violins. 
But  soon  the  trade,  through  foreign  competition,  de- 
clined to  a  desperate  state.  I  did  not  despair,  but  to 
eke  out,  I  set  my  wife  up  in  a  china  and  curiosity  shop 
in  Wardour  Street,  and  worked  at  my  own  craft  in  the 
back  parlor.  I  had  no  sooner  done  this  than  the 
writers  all  made  it  their  business  to  sneer  at  Wardour 
Street,  and  now  nobody  dares  buy  in  that  street,  so 
since  I  began  this  tale  we  have  closed  the  shop  —  it 
only  wasted  their  time  —  they  are  much  better  out 
walking  and  getting  fresh  air  at  least  for  their  trouble. 
I  attend  sales  and  never  lose  a  chance  of  turning  a 
penny  ;  at  home  I  make  and  mend  and  doctor  fiddles  —  I 
carve  wood  —  I  clean  pictures  and  gild  frames.  I  cut 
out  fruit  and  flowers  in  leather  —  I  teach  ladies  and 
gentlemen  to  gild  at  so  much  a  lesson ;  and  by  these  and 
a  score  more  of  little  petty  arts  I  just  keep  the  pot 
boiling. 

I  am,  as  I  have  been  all  my  life,  sober,  watchful,  en- 
terprising, energetic,  and  unlucky. 

In  early  life  I  played  for  a  great  stake  —  affluence. 
I  think  I  may  say  I  displayed  in  the  service  of  Djek 


136 


JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES. 


some  of  those  qualities,  by  which,  unless  books  are 
false,  men  have  won  campaigns  and  battles,  and  reaped 
fortunes  and  reputations.  Eesult  in  my  case  —  a  can- 
non-shot fired  in  a  dirty  little  village  calling  itself  a  city, 
in  a  country  that  Yorkshire  could  eat  up  and  spit  out 
again,  after  all  the  great  kingdoms  and  repubs.  had 
admired  her  and  forgiven  her  her  one  defect  —  a  tongue 
of  fire  —  a  puff  of  smoke  —  and  the  perils,  labor,  cour- 
age, and  perseverance  of  eleven  years  blown  away  like 
dust  to  the  four  winds  of  heaven. 

I  am  now  playing  for  a  smaller  stake  ;  but  I  am  now 
as  usual  playing  my  very  best.  I  am  bending  all  my 
experience  of  work  and  trade,  all  my  sobriety,  activity, 
energy,  and  care,  all  my  cunning  of  eye  and  hand,  to 
one  end  —  not  to  die  in  the  workhouse. 

Ladies  and  gentlemen,  the  workman  has  said  his  say? 
and  I  hope  the  company  have  been  amused. 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


Upon  the  second  day  of  October,  1856,  the  Glasgow 
Times  told  the  world  a  moving  story. 

A  little  boy  was  drowning  in  the  Clyde.  There  were 
a  score  of  people  on  the  bank ;  but  they  only  groaned, 
and  glared,  and  fluttered  at  the  child's  screams  and 
struggles ;  not  one  had  both  the  courage  and  the  skill 
to  plunge  in  and  rescue  him. 

But  presently  came  an  elderly  man  who  was  a  peer- 
less swimmer  and  diver,  and  had  saved  more  than  forty 
lives  in  that  very  river. 

Alas  !  he  was  now  stone  blind ;  a  little  girl,  his  grand- 
daughter, was  leading  him  by  the  hand. 

Yet  to  him  his  blindness  seemed  no  obstacle.  "Let  me 
to  him !  let  me  to  him  ! "  he  cried,  "I'll  save  him  yet ! " 

But,  in  the  general  dismay  and  agitation,  his  appeal 
was  unheeded  at  first.  Then  he  screamed  out  in  gener- 
ous fury,  "  Ye  daft  fules,  a  mon  disna  soom  wi'  his  een ; 
just  fling  me  in  the  water,  and  cry  me«  to  him,  and  ye'll 
see." 

His  prayer  would  have  been  granted,  but  his  grand- 
daughter, with  a  girl's  affection  and  unreasoning  fears, 
clung  round  his  knees,  and  screamed,  "Na,  na,  ye 
wadna,  —  ye  wadna  ! " 

This  caused  a  hesitation,  when  there  was  no  longer  a 

137 


138 


A  HEEO  AND  A  MARTYR, 


moment  to  lose.  The  boy  sank  for  the  last  time.  A 
deep  groan  from  the  spectators  told  the  sad  end,  and  the 
poor  blind  hero  went  home  flinging  his  arms  about  in 
despair,  and  crying  like  a  child ;  for,  as  he  afterwards 
said,  in  telling  the  lamentable  tale,  "  It  was  a  laddie 
flung  away  ;  clean  flung  away." 

The  chronicler  went  on  to  enumerate  the  gallant 
exploits  of  this  very  James  Lambert,  before  he  lost  his 
sight ;  and  the  whole  story  set  me  thinking.  I  began  to 
weigh  the  vulgar  griefs  of  men  against  James  Lambert's 
high  distress.  I  taxed  myself,  and  dissected  things  that 
had  made  me  rage,  or  grieve ;  now  they  seemed  small 
and  selfish. 

From  that  my  mind  went  into  books,  and  I  fell  to 
comparing  the  feats  and  the  tears  of  James  Lambert 
with  the  feats  and  tears  of  heroes,  whom  history  has 
embalmed,  or  poetiy  canonized. 

Strange  to  say,  it  was  not  my  living  contemporary,  but 
the  famous  figures  of  poetry  and  history,  that  paled  a 
little  in  this  new  crucible.  I  often  detected  some  draw- 
back to  their  valor,  and  a  taint  of  egotism  in  their 
grief.  This  made  me  suspect  that  poetry,  like  its  read- 
ers, may  have  been  dazzled  by  the  glare  of  armor  and 
the  blare  of  trumpets,  and  left  heroic  men  unsung,  who 
best  deserved  a  bard.  For,  look  below  the  surface  — 
unsung  Lambert's  was  the  highest  courage  ;  it  was  soli- 
tary courage,  and  no  trumpets  to  stir  it ;  no  armor,  no 
joint  enthusiasm ;  often  no  spectators.  Summer  and 
winter  he  plunged  into  the  Clyde,  and  saved  men  and 
women,  with  his  bare  body,  and  at  great  peril  to  his  life  : 
for  the  best  swimmer  is  a  dead  man  if  a  drowning  per- 
son clutches  him  and  cripples  him.  And  what  was  his 
reward  on  earth  ?  For  his  benevolent  courage  he  was 
stricken  blind,  through  so  many  immersions  of  his 
heated  body  in  icy  water. 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


139 


Was  not  this  a  poetic  calamity,  and  a  fit  theme  for 
tenderest  verse  ? 

Being  thus  afflicted,  for  his  virtue,  he  heard  a  fellow- 
creature  drowning.  He  was  potent  as  ever  in  the  water, 
but  impotent  on  land  ;  and  they  would  not  help  him  into 
the  water ;  and  so  a  young  life  was  flung  away,  that  he 
could  have  saved;  and  he  went  home  flinging  his  arms 
about  in  agony,  and  weeping  tears  that  angels  might  be 
proud  to  dry  with  loving  wing.  Alas  !  and  is  it  so  ? 
The  eyes,  that  can  no  longer  see,  can  weep. 

A  noble,  rare,  unselfish,  and  most  poetical  distress, 
though  told  in  the  plain  prose  of  a  journal.  It  made  me 
desire  to  see  this  James  Lambert,  and  hear  his  tale  from 
his  own  lips,  and  give  him  my  poor  sympathy. 

But,  unfortunately,  I  am  a  procrastinator.  Of  course 
I  can  do  unadvisable  things  expeditiously ;  but,  when  a 
wise  or  good  thing  is  to  be  done,  "  nonum  prematur  in 
annum"  is  my  motto.  So,  for  ten  mortal  years,  and 
more,  I  was  always  going  —  going  —  going  —  to  visit 
James  Lambert. 

At  last,  after  many  years,  being  in  Selkirkshire,  I 
shook  off  "  the  thief  of  time,"  and  went  into  Glasgow  to 
see  this  man,  a  hero  in  his  youth,  a  martyr  in  old  age. 

But  I  had  lived  long  enough  to  observe  that,  when 
you  seek  a  man  who  was  alive  and  elderly  twelve  years 
ago,  you  find  he  has  been  dead  from  four  to  seven.  So, 
on  the  road  to  Glasgow,  I  blamed  myself  bitterly  for 
my  besetting  sin,  and  actually  said  to  myself  very  earn- 
estly, — 

"  from  this  moment 

The  very  firstlings  of  my  heart  shall  be 
The  firstlings  of  my  hand." 

That  was  fine ;  only,  not  to  deceive  you,  I  had  often 
repeated  this  high  resolve,  with  great  fervor  and  sincer- 
ity, and  then  gone  on  procrastinating. 


140 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


In  Glasgow  I  made  strict  inquiries  after  James  Lam- 
bert ;  I  asked  the  landlord,  and  all  the  waiters ;  went  to 
every  tradesman  I  knew  in  the  city.  Not  one  soul  had 
ever  heard  of  him,  nor  of  his  exploits.  This  confirmed 
my  fear  that  he  had  gone  to  a  better  world,  whilst  I 
was  busy  postponing  here  below.  However,  my  tardy 
blood  was  up  at  last ;  so  I  took  a  cab,  and  drove  to  the 
police  chambers,  and  asked  for  the  chief.  The  request 
I  had  to  make  was  unusual ;  therefore  I  prefaced  the 
matter  after  this  fashion  —  "  Sir,  most  people  come  here 
to  ask  you  to  find  out  some  malefactor.  I  come  hunting 
an  honest  man  and  a  man  of  great  merit,  one  James 
Lambert  who  saved  many  lives  in  the  Clyde,  years  ago. 
I  have  come  from  England  to  find  him,  and  I  can  hear 
nothing  of  him,  alive  or  dead.  If  you  will  assist  me  with 
your  machinery,  I  shall  be  truly  obliged  to  yon." 

Now  they  say  the  Scotch  are  not  so  quick  to  take  a 
new  idea  as  the  English.  That  may  be  ;  but  they  are 
also  not  so  quick  to  reject  one.  An  English  chief  con- 
stable would  probably  have  said  at  once,  "  That  is  quite 
out  of  our  line  ;  you  should  go  to  the  parochial  clergy ;  " 
but  after  twenty  minutes'  discussion  would  have  relented, 
and  given  me  every  assistance :  the  Scottish  chief,  on  the 
contrary,  though  manifestly  taken  aback,  thought  before 
he  spoke ;  thought,  without  disguise,  for  full  thirty 
seconds.  "  Well,  sirr,"  said  he,  very  slowly,  "  I  see  —  no 
—  objection  —  to  thaat."  Then  he  turned  to  a  tube 
and  said,  in  a  hollow  voice,  "  Send  me  a  detective." 

This  done,  he  took  down  my  name,  and  address  in 
Glasgow,  and  what  I  knew  about  James  Lambert. 

One's  idea  of  a  detective  is  —  a  keen,  lean  man,  with 
little  glittering  eyes  —  a  human  weasel.  The  door 
opened,  and  in  walked  a  model  of  strength  and  youthful 
beauty,  that  made  me  stare.  He  was  about  twenty-two 
years  old,,  at  least  six  feet  four  in  height,  and  the 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


141 


breadth,  and,  above  all,  the  depth  of  his  chest,  incredi- 
ble. Until  I  saw  John  Heenan  strip,  and  reveal  his 
bulging  back  and  breast,  and  every  inch  of  his  satin  skin 
mapped  with  muscles,  I  took  for  granted  the  old  sculp- 
tors had  exaggerated,  and  carved  ideal  demigods,  not 
real  men.  Nude  Heenan  showed  me  they  had  not  exag- 
gerated, but  selected ;  and  this  detective  confirmed  the 
proof  j  for  he  was  a  much  finer  man  than  Heenan,  yet 
not  a  bit  fleshy  :  and,  instead  of  a  prizefighter's  features, 
a  comely,  manly,  blooming  face,  and  a  high,  smooth  fore- 
head, white  as  snow  itself.  I  know  no  lady  in  the  South 
with  a  forehead  more  white  and  delicate. 

This  Hercules- Apollo — his  Scotch  name  I  have  for- 
gotten —  stood  at  the  door,  and,  drawing  himself  up, 
saluted  his  chief  respectfully. 

"  said  the  chief,  "  this  is  Mr.  Eedd,  fr'  Eng- 
land. He  is  looking  for  an  old  man  named  Lambert, 
that  saved  many  lives  in  the  Clyde  some  years  ago. 
Ye'll  take  means  to  find  him  —  here's  his  description  — 
and  ye'll  report  to  Mr.  Eedd  at  his  hotel.  Ye  under- 
stand now  ;  he's  to  be  found  —  if  he  is  alive." 

The  detective  saluted  again,  but  made  no  reply.  He 
took  my  address,  and  the  particulars,  and  went  to  work 
directly,  as  a  matter  of  course.  I  thanked  the  chief 
heartily,  and  retired  to  my  hotel. 

About  nine  in  the  evening,  Detective  Hercules-Apollo 
called  on  me.  All  he  had  detected  was  a  brave  man, 
called  John  Lambert,  that  had  saved  lives  out  of  a  burn- 
ing ship  in  the  port  of  Greenock.  I  declined  John 
Lambert  —  with  thanks. 

Having  now  no  serious  hope  of  finding  James  Lam- 
bert alive,  I  took  the  goods  the  gods  provided,  and  in- 
terviewed Hercules-Apollo,  since  he  was  to  hand.  I 
questioned  him,  and  he  told  me  he  was  often  employed 
in  captures. 


142 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


"  Well,"  said  I,  "  you  are  the  man  for  it.  You  don't 
often  meet  your  match,  eh  ?  " 

He  blushed  a  little,  and  smiled,  but  it  did  not  make 
him  bumptious,  as  it  might  a  small  man,  say  a  lifeguards- 
man,  or  drayman.  He  said,  "  I  assure  you,  sirr,  I  need 
it  all,  and  whiles,  mair."  He  then  pointed  out  to  me  a 
window  in  the  Trongate,  exactly  opposite  the  room  we 
were  in.  "  Yon's  just  a  nest  o'  theeves,"  said  he  :  "they 
wark  wi'  decoys,  sirr,  a  wife  wi'  a  tale  o'  woe,  or  a  lass 
wi'  a  bonny  face,  and  the  like.  The  other  night  a 
gentleman  put  his  hand  through  the  window,  and  cried 
'  Thieves ! '  So  I  ran  up  the  stair.  The  door  was  lockit, 
ye  may  be  sure.    I  just  pit  my  fut  till't  "  — 

"  And  it  flew  up  the  chimney  ?  " 

"  Ha  !  ha!  Xo  so  far  as  that,  sirr.  Aweel,  I  thoucht 
to  find  ma}~be  two  or  three  of  them  ;  but  there  were 
nigh  a  dizen  o'  the  warst  characters  in  Glasgow.  How- 
ever, I  was  in  for't,  ye  ken  ;  so  I  was  in  the  middle  of 
them  before  they  had  time  to  think,  and  collared  twa  old 
offenders.  '  I'll  tak  this  handful,'  says  I,  '  and  I'll  come 
bock  for  the  lave  '  &  :  marched  'em  oot,  and  the  gentle- 
man at  my  heels.  He  was  glad  to  wend  clear,  and  so 
was  I.  My  hairt  beat  hard  that  time,  I  shall  assure  ye ; 
but  I  didna  let  the  vagabonds  see  thaat,  ye  ken."  He 
intimated  that  it  was  all  gas  for  any  one  man  to  pretend 
he  could  master  half  a  dozen,  if  they  were  resolute. 
"Na — we  beer  the  law  in  our  hairts,  and  they  beer 
guilt  in  theirs.    That's  what  makes  the  odds,  sirr." 

After  a  conversation,  of  which  this  is  only  a  fragment, 
we  returned  to  James  Lambert,  and  he  told  me  he  ex- 
pected news,  good  or  bad,  by  break  of  day,  for  he  had 
fifty  policemen  questioning  on  their  beats,  in  the  like- 
liest parts  of  the  city.  "  Ah,"  said  I,  "  but  I  am  afraid 
those  beats  are  all  above  ground  now  my  poor  hero  is 
underground." 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


143 


I  went  to  bed  with  this  conviction ;  and  having 
hitherto  blamed  myself,  which  is  an  unnatural  trick,  I 
now  looked  round  for  somebody  else  to  blame,  which  is 
customary  and  wholesome  ;  and  herein  my  smattering  of 
the  British  drama  stood  my  friend  ;  I  snarled,  and  said 
—  out  of  Sir  Peter  —  "  He  has  died  on  purpose  to  vex 
me." 

I  heard  no  more  till  half-past  one  next  day,  and 
then  my  gigantic  and  beautiful  detective  called.  This 
time  he  had  a  huge  pocket-book  —  enormous  —  in  a 
word,  such  a  pocket-book  as  he  a  man.  He  opened  it, 
and  took  out  an  old  newspaper  with  an  account  of  James 
Lambert,  and  also  a  small  pamphlet.  I  ran  my  eye 
over  them. 

"  That  will  be  the  man,  sirr  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"Aweel,  then  we've  got  him,'7  said  he,  quietly. 
"  What !  got  him  alive  ?  " 

"  Ou  ay ;  he  is  in  vara  good  health.  He's  not  an  old 
man,  sirr.    He  will  not  be  mair  than  saxty." 

"  Have  you  seen  him  with  your  own  eyes  ?  "  said  I, 
still  half  incredulous. 

"  Ye  may  be  sure  o'  thaat,  sirr.  I  wadna  come  here 
till  I  had  spoken  him.  He  stays  at  No.  36  Little  Street, 
Calton." 

I  thought  Calton  was  some  other  town,  but  he  told  me 
it  was  only  a  suburb  of  Glasgow,  and  all  the  cabmen 
knew  it.  Then  I  thanked  him  for  his  zeal  and  ability, 
and  stood  a  sovereign,  which  he  received  with  a  grateful 
smile,  but  no  abatement  of  his  manly  dignity ;  and  I 
took  a  fly  that  moment,  and  drove  to  Little  Street, 
Calton. 

For  some  reason  No.  36  was  hard  to  find,  and  I  got 
out  of  the  fly  to  explore.  I  found  the  population  in  a 
flutter,  and  it  was  plain  by  the  swift  gathering  of 


144 


A  HERO  AND  A  MAE T YE. 


juveniles,  and  their  saucer  eyes,  that  this  was  the  first 
triumphal  car  had  entered  that  miserable  street.  How- 
ever, if  there  was  amazement,  there  was  civility;  and 
they  vied  with  each  other  in  directing  me  to  James  Lam- 
bert. I  mounted  a  stair,  as  directed,  and  knocked  at  a 
door.  A  woman's  voice  said,  "Corrie  in,"  and  I  entered 
the  room.    There  was  but  one. 

On  my  right  hand  as  I  stood  at  the  door,  and  occupy- 
ing nearly  one-third  of  the  room,  was  a  long  large 
wooden  machine  for  spinning  cotton ;  the  upper  part 
bristled  with  wooden  quills  polished  by  use.  Behind  it 
the  bed  in  a  recess.  Immediately  on  my  left  was  a 
table  with  things  on  it,  covered  with  a  linen  cloth.  Ex- 
actly opposite  me  the  fireplace.  On  my  right  hand  of  it 
the  window,  but  in  an  embrasure. 

An  old  woman  sat  before  the  window,  a  young  woman 
sat  all  in  a  heap  the  other  side  of  the  fire ;  and  in  front 
of  the  fire  stood  a  gray-headed  man,  with  well-cut  feat- 
ures, evidently  blind.  He  was  erect  as  a  dart,  and 
stood  before  his  own  fire  in  an  easy  and  gentleman-like 
attitude,  which  does  not,  as  a  rule,  belong  to  working- 
men  ;  they  generally  slouch  a  bit  when  not  at  work. 

"  Does  Mr.  Lambert  live  here  ?  "  said  I,  for  form. 

He  replied  civilly,  "  I  am  James  Lambert.  What  is 
your  wull  with  me  ?  " 

"Mr.  Lambert,  I  have  come  from  some  distance  to 
have  a  talk  with  you  —  about  your  exploits  in  saving 
lives." 

"  Aweel,  sirr,  I'll  be  very  happy  to  hae  a  crack  wi'  ye. 
Wife,  give  the  gentleman  a  chair." 

When  I  was  seated,  he  said,  "  We  are  in  a  litter  the 
day  ;  but  ye'll  excuse  it." 

I  saw  no  litter,  and  did  not  know  what  he  meant. 
Before  he  could  explain,  a  young  man  called  for  him,  no 
doubt  by  appointment  j   and  Lambert  begged  me  to 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


145 


excuse  him  for  a  moment;  he  had  a  weekly  pension, 
and  they  would  not  pay  it  after  three  o'clock ;  but  it  was 
not  far,  and  he  would  return  directly.  He  then  left  me 
seated  between  the  two  women.  I  looked  hard  at  the 
young  woman.  She  never  moved,  and  seemed  quite 
stupid  or  stupefied.  I  looked  at  the  table  on  her  side 
of  the  room,  and  wondered  what  was  under  the  linen 
cloth.  There  seemed  to  be  a  prominence  or  two,  such 
as  objects  of  unequal  height  would  cause,  and  I  fancied 
it  must  be  the  best  teapot,  and  other  china,  covered  to 
keep  off  the  dust. 

The  young  woman  was  repellent,  so  I  turned  round  to 
the  old  one,  and  praised  her  husband. 

"Ay,"  said  she,  "he  has  been  a  curious  mon  in  his 
time  —  and  mony  a  great  f aitour  c  he  did  —  and  mony  a 
good  suit  he  destroyed  that  /  had  to  pay  for." 

This  last  sentence  being  uttered  earnestly,  and  its 
predecessor  apathetically,  coupled  with  the  stress  on 
the  "I,"  gave  me  the  measure  of  the  woman's  mind. 
However,  I  tried  her  again.  "  Did  you  see  any  of  his 
exploits  ?  " 

"  Na,  na ;  I  was  aye  minding  my  wark  at  hame.  I 
saw  leetle  o'  his  carryings  on." 

I  said  no  more ;  but  remembered  Palissy's  wife,  and 
other  egotistical  mediocres ;  and  turned  to  the  young 
woman :  but  she  seemed  unconscious  of  my  voice  or  my 
presence. 

From  this  impenetrable  I  turned,  in  despair,  to  the 
covered  table ;  tried  to  see  below  the  cover  with  my 
eagle  eye,  and  had  just  settled  positively  it  was  the 
china  tea-service,  when,  to  my  great  relief,  James  Lam- 
bert returned,  and  conversation  took  the  place  of  idle 
speculation. 

We  soon  came  to  an  understanding,  and  I  asked  him 
to  give  me  some  details,  and  to  begin  at  the  beginning. 


146 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


"  Aweel,  sirr,"  said  he,  "  the  first  case  ever  I  had  was 
a  baker  —  they  ca't  a  case  ye  ken  the  noo ;  aw  thing  is  a 
case  — an  awfu'  fat  mon  he  was.  I  was  aboot  fourteen 
or  fifteen  then,  but  a  gey  guid  soomer  d.  Aweel,  sirr. 
me  and  Rab  Rankin,  and  John  Murdoch,  and  a  hantle 
mair  lads,  went  doon  to  the  bathing-place,  an'  we  were 
divairting  oorselves  in  the  water,  when  the  baker  strips 
and  comes  out  on  the  deal.  Noo  ye'll  understond  there 
was  shallow  water  and  deep,  and  the  deep  was  at  the 
far  eend  o'  the  deal.  They  ca'  it  '  the  Dominie's  Hole,' 
fra  a  schulemaister  wha  was  drooned  there  a  hundre' 
years  agone.  So  this  baker  comes  oot  to  the  vera  eend 
o'  the  deal,  and  dives  in  heed  first,  as  if  Clyde  belanged 
to  him  —  ha,  ha,  ha!  He  dizna  come  up  for  awhile, 
and  I  said  to  the  other  callants  e,  <  Hech,  sirs,  ye'll  see 
a  bonny  diver.'  Presently  up  he  comes,  paanting  and 
baashing,  and  flinging  his  arrms  ;  then  doon  he  goes 
again  with  baith  een  glowering.  '  Maircy  on  us,'  cries 
ane,  'the  moo's  drooning.'  However,  he  comes  up 
again,  baashing  and  spluttering.  I  was  ready  for  him, 
and  just  swam  forereicht  him,  and  took  him  by  th'  arm. 
That  will  let  ye  see  what  a  senseless  cauf  I  was.  I  suld 
hae  gQne  and  flung  him  ae  eend  of  my  gallows,  or  my 
naepkin/,  and  towed  him  in;  but,  insteed  of  that,  he 
gat  haud  o'  me  and  grippit  me  tight  to  his  breest,  and 
took  me  doon  with  him.  Noo,  tell  me,  sir  —  y'  are  a 
soomer  yoursel  ?  " 

I  said,  "  Yes." 

"  What  was  our  lives  worth,  the  pair  ?  Him  a  twanty 
stane  mon,  and  me  a  laddy  ?  " 

"Not  much,  indeed,  unless  you  could  slip  away  from 
him." 

"  Ay,  but  I  could  na ;  he  huggit  me  till  him.  Aweel, 
sirr,  if  he  was  wild,  I  was  desperate.  I  flang  my  heed 
back  and  gat  my  knees  up  to  his  breest,  and  after  my 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR.  147 


knees  my  feet,  and  I  gied  the  awfu'est  spang  with  my 
feet  against  his  breest,  and  I  got  clear,  a'  but  the  skin  ?o 
my  forefinger,  that  I  left  in  his  hond.  I  raised  to  the 
surface  and  called  to  the  boys  to  mak'  a  chain.  I  was 
afeared  to  dive  for  him.  But  by  Glide's  maircy  he  came 
up  yance  mair,  just  to  tak'  leave  o'  Scoetland.  I  got 
ahint  him  and  gave  him  a  sair  crack  on  the  heed,  drove 
him  forud,  followed  him  up  wi'  a  push,  and  then  the 
lads  took  hands  and  won  to  him,  and  pulled  him  to  the 
deal,  and  I  soomed  ashore,  and  I  hadna  been  there  a 
minute  when  I  swooned  reicht  away." 
"  How  was  that  ?  "  I  asked. 

"I  think  it  was  partly  the  pain,  but  maistly  faint- 
hairtedness  at  sight  o'  my  finger  a-streaming  wi'  bluid, 
and  the  skin  away.  When  I  came  to  mysel'  the  baker 
had  put  on  his  claes  and  gaed  awa." 

"  What,  without  a  word  to  his  preserver  ? 99 

"Ay." 

"  Didn't  he  give  you  anything  ?  " 

"  Deil  a  bawbee.  But  there  was  two  gentlemen  saw 
the  affair,  and  gied  me  fifteen  shellin'.  I  went  hame 
sucking  my  sair  finger ;  and  my  mither  gied  me  an  aw-f  u' 
hiding  for  spoiling  my  clothes.  She  took  me  by  the 
lug  9,  and  made  me  cry  '  murrder.'  99 

"Fine,  sympathetic  creatures,  the  women  in  these 
parts,"  said  I ;  circumferens  acriter  oculos,  as  my  friend 
Livy  hath  it,  and  withering  a  female  right  and  left, 
as  playful  men  shoot  partridges.  Unfortunately,  neither 
of  them  observed  I  had  withered  her :  the  hero's  narra- 
tive and  my  basilisk  glances  were  alike  unheeded. 

"  And  on  the  impassive  ice  the  lightnings  play."  —  Pope. 

James  Lambert,  duly  questioned,  then  related  how  a 
personal  friend  of  his  had  been  seized  with  cramp  in  the 
middle  of  the  Clyde.    "  For,  sirr,"  said  he,  "  the  Clyde 


148 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


is  a  deedly  water,  by  reason  of  its  hot  and  cold  currents, 
and  sand-holes  and  all." 

His  friend  had  sunk  for  the  last  time;  James  Lam- 
bert dived  for  him,  and  brought  him  up  from  the 
bottom,  and  took  him  ashore. 

"  And,  sirr,  maybe  ye  wadna  think  it;  but  the  resoolt 
was  —  I  lost  my  freend." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  said  I,  staring. 

4 'He  just  avoided  me  after  that.  He  came  to  see  me 
twarree A  times,  too ;  but  I  obsairved  he  wasna  easy  till 
he  was  away;  and  bymby  I  saw  nae  mair  o'  the  lad." 
This  he  said  without  passion,  and  apparently  only  to 
discharge  his  conscience,  as  a  faithful  narrator  of  real 
events,  and  men  as  they  are  in  life,  not  books.  But  I, 
who  am  no  hero,  boiled. 

I  took  time  to  digest  this  human  pill,  and  then 
questioned  him.  But  I  omit  two  cases  —  to  use  his  own 
words — as  they  had  no  particular  feature. 

44  The  next  case,  sir,  was  an  old  wumman ;  ye  ken  the 
wives  come  on  Glasgow  Green  to  wash.  Well,  this  auld 
wife  had  gone  oot  at  4  the  three  stanes '  to  dip  her  stoop 
i'  the  water,  and  overbalanced  herself  and  gone  in  heed 
first,  and  the  stream  carried  her  oot.  The  cry  got  up, 
4  there's  a  wumman  droonin.'  I  was  a  lang  way  off,  but 
I  heerd  it,  and  ran  down  and  into  the  water  after  her, 
clothes  and  all.  She  was  floating,  sirr,  but  her  heed  was 
doon,  and  her  feet  up.  I  never  saw  the  like  in  a*  my 
life.  I  soomed  up  to  her,  and  lifted  her  puir  auld  gray 
heed  out  o'  the  water  —  a  rale  riverend  face  she  had  — ■ 
and  broucht  her  ashore  on  my  arm  as  quiet  as  a  lamb ; 
and  laid  her  doon." 

44  Was  she  insensible?  " 

44  Not  athegither,  I  think,  but  nigh  hand  it,  just  scared 
like  oot  o'  her  senses,  puir  saul.  Vera  sune  she  began 
to  tremble  all  over  and  greet  sair.    I  turned  my  bock, 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


149 


no'  to  greet  mysel',  and  went  aside  and  ridded  my  elaes. 
Aweel,  sirr,  the  first  word  she  spoke  was  to  speer  for 
me.  She  cries  out,  quite  sudden,  'Whaur's  the  mon 
that  gat  me  oot ;  for  Gude's  sake,  whaur  is  he  ? '  Sae 
the  folk  pushit  me,  and  I  behooved  to  come  forrud,  and 
mak'  my  confession.  '  Wife/  says  I,  'I'm  the  mon.'  So 
she  looks  me  all  over.  'The  Lorrd  protect  ye,'  she 
cried.  <  The  Lorrd  bless  ye  !  —  I'm  a  puir  auld  body,' 
says  she,  "  I  hae  naething  but  my  washing-bay  K  But 
come  ye  wi'  me ;  and  I'll  pit  it  away,  and  get  ye  twarree 
shellin'  for  saving  me  fra  deeth.' " 

"  Hech,  sirr,  I  felt  it  awfu'  keen ;  it  was  just  her 
livelihood,  ye  ken,  her  washing-bay ;  and  she'd  pit  it  i' 
pawn  for  me.  '  Puir  auld  body,'  says  I,  1  and  is  that  a' 
ye  hae  ? '  And  I  just  clappit  a  shellin'  in  her  hand, 
and  I  tell't  her  I  needed  naething ;  I'd  a  gude  wife,  and 
a  gude  wage.  I  was  warking  at  Somerville's  mill  ower 
the  water.  *  And,'  says  I,  '  if  ye  wait  for  me  Saturday 
afternoons,  when  I  lift  my  wage,  I'll  whiles  hae  a 
shellin'  for  ye.' " 

"And  did  she?" 

"Na,  na,"  said  he;  then,  thoughtfully,  "She  was 
ower  puir  to  gie,  and  ower  decent  to  take." 

All  our  other  provincial  dialects  are  harsh  and  ugly ; 
but  the  Scotch  is  guttural  on  the  consonants,  and  on  the 
vowels  divinely  melodious :  I  wish  I  could  convey  the 
exquisite  melody  of  James  Lambert's  voice  in  speaking 
these  words,  "  Puir  —  auld  —  body  !  an'  is  thaat  a'  ye 
hae  ?  " 

The  story  itself,  and  the  brave,  tender  hero's  tones 
were  so  manly,  yet  so  sweet,  that  they  brought  water 
into  my  eyes;  and  I  thought  this  tale  at  least  must 
touch  some  chord  even  in  the  dull,  domestic  heart.  But 
no ;  I  looked  at  the  young  woman,  and  she  sat  all  of  a 
heap,  still  wrapped  in  herself,  dull,  stupid,  and  gloomy 
24 


150 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


beyond  description,  and  the  narrative,  far  from  touching 
her,  never  even  reached  her.  That  was  evident,  some- 
how. Thought  I  to  myself,  "  Oh,  but  y'arr  a  dour  wife, 
y'  arr." 

Perhaps  you  will  be  incredulous  at  my  thinking  in 
Scotch ;  but  the  truth  is,  I  am  little  better  than  a  chame- 
leon ;  I  take  the  local  color  willy  nilly.  After  a  day  in 
France  I  begin  to  think  in  French ;  in  Scotland,  Scotch. 
I  think  in  bad  French  and  bad  Scotch  —  very ;  but  that 
is  a  flimsy  detail ;  the  broad  fact  remains.  So  I  dubbed 
her  a  "douri  wife : "  and  really  I  felt  wrath  that  such 
pearls  of  true  narrative  should  be  poured  out  before 
young  Apathy  and  ancient  Mediocrity. 

Of  Mediocrity  there  is  no  cure ;  but  there  is  of 
Apathy,  at  least  in  Scotland.  That  cure  is  —  whiskey. 
"When  whiskey  will  not  thaw  a  Scotch  body  at  all, 

"  O  then  be  bold  to  say  Bassanio's  —  dead." 

So  I  beckoned  a  dirty  but  attentive  imp,  that  gleamed, 
all  eyes,  in  a  dark  corner,  and  sent  him  out  for  a  great 
deal  of  whiskey ;  and  postponed  my  inquiries  till  after 
the  thaw. 

But,  before  the  imp  could  return  with  Apathy's  cure, 
several  footsteps  were  heard  on  the  stairs,  and  three  or 
four  men  entered,  all  in  good  black  suits.  A  few  words 
of  subdued  greeting  passed,  and  then  they  removed  the 
white  linen  cloth  from  what  I.  with  my  eagle  eye  and 
love  of  precision,  had  inventoried  as  the  best  tea-service. 

It  was  the  body  of  a  little  girl,  lying  in  her  little 
coffin.  The  lid  was  not  yet  on.  She  looked  like  frozen 
wax. 

After  the  first  chilling  surprise,  I  cast  my  eye  on  the 
young  woman.  She  never  moved  nor  looked,  but  she 
shivered  by  the  fire  when  the  men  touched  the  coffin 
behind  her. 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


151 


She  was  the  dead  child's  mother.  Even  I  —  in  spite 
of  my  eagle  eye  —  could  see  that  now. 

I  whispered  to  James  Lambert,  "  I  have  intruded  on 
you  at  a  sad  time." 

"  Ye  haena  intruded  at  all,"  said  he  out  loud.  Then 
he  told  me,  before  them  all,  what  made  it  worse  was  that 
the  father  had  gone  away  and  not  been  seen  these  three 
days. 

aAj,  but,"  said  Mrs.  Lambert,  "ye  mauna  let  the 
gentleman  think  he  is  ane  that  drinks.  Na,  he  is  a  real 
quiet,  sober,  decent  man." 

"  He  is  thaat,"  said  the  bereaved  mother,  speaking  for 
the  first  time,  but  in  a  crushed  and  dogged  way. 

"Tin  no'  exackly  denying  that,"  said  James,  cau- 
tiously.   "  But  whaur  is  he  —  at  the  present  time  ?  " 

It  was  evident  that  this  quiet,  sober,  decent  man,  upon 
the  death  of  his  daughter,  had  gone  away  on  the  fuddle, 
and  left  his  bereaved  wife  to  bury  the  child  how  she 
could. 

Such  are  the  dire  realities  of  life,  especially  among 
the  poor. 

With  what  different  eyes  I  looked  now  on  the  poor 
creature,  bereaved  mother,  and  deserted  wife,  whose 
deep  and  numbing  agony  I  had  taken  for  sullen  apathy 
—  with  my  eagle  eye. 

And  now  came  in  an  undertaker,  and  the  coffin-lid 
was  to  be  screwed  on.  Before  this  was  done,  all  the 
men,  myself  included,  took  a  last  look  at  her  who  was 
taken  away  so  early  from  the  troubles  of  the  world. 

"  Ay,  sir,"  said  the  undertaker  to  me,  "  it  is  just  clay 
going  to  the  dust ; "  and  never  was  a  truer  word  nor 
more  pictorial.    That  clay  seemed  never  to  have  lived. 

The  lid  was  soon  screwed  down,  and  then,  to  my  sur- 
prise, the  undertaker  delivered  a  prayer.  Now  that  was 
the  business  of  the  minister :  and  besides,  the  under- 


152 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


taker  had  the  reddest  nose  I  ever  saw.  For  all  that  he 
delivered  a  grave,  feeling,  and  appropriate  prayer,  and  then 
the  deceased  was  carried  out  for  interment,  and  I  was 
left  with  James  Lambert,  his  daughter,  and  his  wife. 
I  asked  James  Lambert,  would  not  the  minister  meet 
them  at  the  grave. 

"Na,"  said  he,  "there's  nae  minister  intill't.  The 
wives  daur  na  tell  him,  or  he'd  be  speering,  *  Why  is  na 
the  gude  man  here  ? '  and  then  he'd  get  a  pooblie  re- 
buke. Whisper,  sirr.  Hae  ye  no  absairved  that  the 
women-folk  aye  screens  a  blackguard  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  whispered  I ;  "  especially  when  they  surfer  by 
him." 

So  the  poor  wife  let  her  child  be  prayed  over  and 
buried  by  a  layman,  sooner  than  expose  her  husband  to 
the  censure  of  the  church. 

All  this  made  my  bowels  yearn,  and,  for  the  first  time, 
I  addressed  myself  directly  to  her.  I  said,  "  My  poor 
woman,  nobody  can  console  a  mother  that  has  lost  a 
child  :  that  is  beyond  the  power  of  man.  But,  if  it  is 
a  part  of  your  trouble  that  you  are  left  without  help, 
and  perhaps  hard  put  to  it  for  expenses,  I  can  be  of 
some  little  use  to  you  in  that."  Then  I  pulled  out  two 
or  three  of  those  deplorable  old  rags  —  Scotch  one-pound 
notes,  by  means  of  which  the  national  malady  is  per- 
petuated and  passes  from  hand  to  hand. 

I  don't  know  whether  it  was  the  stale  words  or  the 
old  rags,  or  both ;  but  the  poor  woman  burst  out  crying 
and  sobbing  with  almost  terrible  violence. 

We  did  what  we  could  for  her,  and  tried  to  get  her  to 
swallow  a  few  drops  of  whiskey ;  but  she  put  her  hand 
up  and  turned  away  from  it. 

The  quick-eared  old  man  found  this  out  somehow,  and 
explained  her  to  her  face.  "  She  can  take  a  drap  as 
weel  as  ony  body :  but  noo,  she  blames  it  for  her  mon 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


153 


being  away."  Then,  rather  roughly  to  his  wife,  "  Hets, 
ye  fule,  let  the  lass  greet.  What'n  harm  will  that  dee 
her?" 

Soon  after  this  the  two  women  exchanged  one  of  their 
signals,  and  went  out  together  —  I  think  to  pay  the 
undertaker  ;  and  such  is  the  decent  pride  of  the  Scotch 
character,  that  to  be  able  to  do  this  was  probably  a  drop 
of  comfort  in  the  bitter  cup  of  their  affliction. 

When  they  were  gone,  the  old  man's  expressive 
features  brightened  a  little,  and  he  drew  his  stool  nearer 
me,  with  a  certain  genial  alacrity.  There  are  book- 
makers who  would  not  let  you  know  that,  madam,  lest 
you  should  turn  from  their  hero  with  aversion;  but, 
when  I  deal  with  fact,  I  am  on  my  oath.  At  all  events, 
understand  him  before  you  turn  from  him.  You  see  the 
present  very  clearly,  the  past  through  a  haze ;  but  this 
man,  being  blind,  could  not  see  the  present  at  all,  and 
saw  the  past  clearer  than  you  do  ;  for  he  was  compelled 
to  live  in  it.  He  had  never  seen  the  grandchild  he  had 
lost ;  an  unfamiliar  fragment  of  this  generation  had 
gone  away  to  the  grave,  a  man  of  his  own  generation 
sat  beside  him,  and  led  him  back  to  the  men  and  things 
he  knew  by  sight  and  by  deed. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Lambert  —  now  tell  me." 

"Aweel,  sirr,  ye've  heerd  o'  the  callant  they  wadna 
let  me  save  —  hech,  sirr,  yon  was  a  wean  wastit  &  —  noo 
I'll  mak'  ye  the  joodge  whether  I  could  na  hae  saved 
that  ane,  and  twarree  mair.  There's  a  beck  they  ca' 
i  the  Plumb '  rins  doon  fra'  the  horse-brae  into  the  Clyde 
near  Stockwell  Brigg.  The  bairns  were  aye  for  sporting 
in  the  beck,  because  it  was  shallow  by  ordinar,  and  ye'd 
see  them  the  color  o'  vilets,  and  no'  hauf  sae  sweet,  wi' 
the  dye  that  ran  i'  the  beck.  Aweel,  ae  day  there  was 
a  band  o'  them  there  ;  and  a  high  spate  *  hed  come  doon 
and  catched  them,  and  the  resoolt  was  I  saw  ane  o'  th' 


154 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


assembly  in  the  Clyde.  I  had  warned  the  neer-do-weels, 
ye  ken,  mony's  the  time.  By  good-luck,  I  was  na  far 
away,  and  went  in  for  him  and  took  him  by  the  ear. 
<  C'way,  ye  little  deevil,'  says  I.  I  had  na  made  three 
strokes,  when  I'm  catched  round  the  neck  wi'  another 
callan." 

"Where  on  earth  did  he  spring  from  ? 99 

"  I  dinna  ken.  I  was  attending  to  number  ane,  when 
number  twa  poppit  up,  just  to  tak'  leave  o'  G-lasgwo.  I 
tell't  them  to  stick  in  to  me,  and  carried  the  pair  ashore. 
Directly,  there's  a  skirl  on  the  bank,  and  up  comes  num- 
ber three,  far  ahint  me  in  the  Clyde,  and  sinks  before  I  can 
win  ™>  to  him.  Dives  for  this  one,  and  has  a  wark  to 
find  him  at  the  bottom.  Brings  him  ashore,  in  a  kind  o' 
a  dwam ;  but  I  had  nae  fear  for  his  life,  he  hadna  been 
doon  lang :  my  lord  had  a  deal  mair  mischief  to  do,  ye 
ken.  By  the  same  token  he  came  to  vera  sune  ;  and  d'ye 
ken  the  first  word  he  said  to  me  ? 99 

"No." 

"  Nay,  but  guess." 
"  I  cannot." 

"  He  said,  <  Dinna  tell  my  feyther  ! 9  ha !  ha  !  ha !  ha ! 
ha!  ha!  '  Lordsake,  man,  dinna  tell  my  feyther! 'ha! 
ha !  ha !  ha !  ha  !  " 

I  never  saw  a  man  more  tickled,  by  a  straw,  than 
James  Lambert  was  at  this.  By  contemplating  him  I 
was  enabled,  in  the  course  of  time,  to  lose  my  own  grav- 
ity; for  his  whole  face  was  puckered  with  mirth,  and 
every  inch  of  it  seemed  to  laugh. 

"  But,"  said  he,  "  wad  you  believe  it,  some  officious 
pairson  tell't  his  feyther,  in  spite  o'  us  baith.  He  was 
just  a  laboring  man.  He  called  on  me,  and  thankit  me 
vara  hairtily,  and  gied  me  a  refreshment.  And  I 
thoucht  mair  o't  than  I  hae  thoucht  o'  a  hantle  siller  on 
the  like  occasions," 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


155 


After  one  or  two  savings  that  would  have  gained  a 
man  a  medal  in  the  South,  but  go  for  nothing  in  this 
man's  career,  and  would  dilute  the  more  colored  inci- 
dents, James  Lambert  prefaced  a  curious  story  by  letting 
me  into  his  mind.  "By  this  time,  sirr,"  said  he,  "  I  was 
aye  prowling  about  day  and  night  for  vectims." 

"  Tell  the  truth,  James.  You  had  the  pride  of  an 
artist.  You  wanted  them  to  fall  in,  that  you  might  pull 
them  out,  and  show  your  dexterity." 

"  Dinna  mak'  me  waur  than  I  am,  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  Nay, 
but  ye  ken,  in  those  days,  folk  was  na  sae  acquainted  in 
sooming,  and  accidents  was  mair  common ;  and  sae,  if 
such  a  thing  was  to  be,  I  wad  like  to  be  there  and  save 
'em.    Ech,  the  sweetness  o't  !  —  the  sweetness  o't ! 

"  I  raised  every  morning  between  three  and  four,  and 
took  a  walk ;  it  was  a  kind  o'  my  natur,  and  the  river 
was  aye  the  first  place  I  ran  tae.  Aweel,  ae  morning, 
before  'twas  well  light,  I  heerd  high  words,  and  there 
was  a  lass  fleichting  n  on  a  lad,  and  chairging  him  wi' 
beein'  her  ruin :  and  presently  she  runs  away  skirling, 
and  flings  hersel'  into  the  river.  The  lad  he  just  turns 
on  his  heel  and  walks  away." 

I  expressed  my  surprise  and  horror — no  matter  in 
what  terms. 

He  replied,  loftily,  "  My  dear  sirr,  d'ye  ken  this  ?  there 
have  been  men  in  the  name  o'  men,  that  were  little  mair 
than  broom  besoms." 

I  acquiesced. 

"  'Twas  na  for  sport  neither.  The  lass  knew  the  water, 
and  ran  straicht  to  the  deepest  pairt,  opposite  Nelson's 
Monument :  her  claes  buoyed  her  up,  and  I  got  her  out 
easy  eneuch.  She  was  na  ashore  a  moment,  when  in  she 
flees  again,  the  daft  hizzy.  Noo  the  water  maistly  cools 
thir  sort  o'  lasses,  and  reconciles  them  to  terree  firmee. 
But  she  was  distrackit,  she  was  just  a  woman  that  wanted 


156 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


to  die.  So  I  went  in  again,  and  lectured  her  a'  the  time 
I  was  pulling  her  oot.  '  Hae  ye  a  quarrl  wi'  Him  that 
made  ye,  ye  daft  cummer  ?'  o  says  I ;  and  I  held  her  on 
the  bank  itsel' ;  but  if  I  was  strong  in  the  water,  she  was 
stronger  on  land  wi'  her  daftness,  and  she  flung  me  off, 
and  in  again.  '  Vara  weel,  my  leddy,'  says  I.  Sae  —  d'ye 
ken  what  I  did  noo  ?  " 
"No." 

"  I  just  drooned  her.  I  pit  her  heed  under  water,  and 
keepit  there  till  I  made  her  taste  the  bitterness  o'  dethe, 
for  her  gude,  ye  ken.  Hech,  sirr,  but  it  sickened  her  o' 
yon  game.  She  brought  up  a  quart  o'  Clyde,  and  then 
she  lay  and  rolled  a  bit,  and  pu'd  the  grass,  and  then  she 
sat  up  quite  as  a  lamb ;  and  I  stood  sentinel  over  her 
leddyship,  and  my  claes  a-drippin'.  By  this  time  a  wheen 
folk  cam'  aboot  to  see,  and  doesna  the  lad,  that  was  wi' 
her,  step  forrud  and  complain  to  me.  '  Ye'd  little  to  do 
to  interfere,'  says  he ;  '  she  was  wi'  me ;  she  was  na  wi' 
you.'  — '  What,'  says  I,  <  d'ye  begroodge  the  lass  her  life  ?  1 
—  '  Not  I,'  says  he ; '  but  y'  had  no  need  to  meddle  ;  what's 
your  business  ?  '  So  I  gied  him  his  answer.  Says  I, 
'  You  have  taen  her  character,  and  turned  her  on  the 
maircy  of  the  warld,  and  noo  it's  a'  your  vexation  that 
ye  could  na'  be  rid  of  her  in  the  Clyde.  But  she  shall 
outlive  you,  ye  blackguard,'  says  I,  '  please  Gude.'  So 
then  he  challenged  me  to  fight.  But  as  I  mad  ready  to 
take  off  my  coat,  a  fine  lad  steps  forrud,  and  lays  his 
hand  on  my  arm.  '  Ye're-no  fit  for  him,'  says  he;  '  an' 
ye've  done  your  wark,'  says  he,  1  and  this  is  mines.'  So 
at  it  they  went,  and  t'other  stood  up  and  fought  for 
about  five  minutes.  But  oh,  he  napped  it.  My  lad  just 
hashed  him.  Gied  him  twa  black  een,  and  at  the  hinder 
end  laid  him  sprawlin'  and  smothered  i'  bluid." 

"But  the  woman?" 

"  She  was  na  a  woman.  She  was  but  a  lassie,  about 
nineteen." 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


157 


"  Little  fool !  and  thought  she  was  ruined  for  life  — 
when  all  her  life  was  before  her." 

"  Ye  may  say  that,  sirr :  why,  that  very  year  wasna 
she  married  on  a  decent  tradesman  ?  I  often  saw  her 
after  she  was  married  ;  but  she  wadna  speak  to  me.  She 
could na  look  me  straught  i'  the  face.  She'd  say  '  Gude 
morning/  though  —  when  she  couldna  get  by  me." 

"  Ungrateful  little  brute  !  " 

"  Na,  na ;  it  was  na  ingratitude  ava ;  it  was  just 
shame.  Aweel,  she  needna  run  fra'  me  noo ;  for  I  canna 
see  her,  nor  ony  of  those  I  hae  saved." 

This  made  me  gulp  a  bit,  and,  when  I  had  done,  I 
said,  "  She  measured  you  by  her  small  self.  She  would 
have  been  sure  to  blab,  in  such  a  case,  so  she  thought 
you  would." 

"  Aweel  then,"  said  he,  "  she  was  mistaen  ;  for  I  maun 
tell  ye  that  some  mischief-maker  let  on  something  or 
other  about  it  to  her  man,  and  he  was  uneasy,  and  came 
and  asked  me  if  'twas  true  I  had  taken  his  wife  out  o' 
the  water.  '  Ay/  said  I,  '  her  and  twarree  mair.'  — 
'  What  had  she  to  do  i'  the  water  ?  '  says  he.  6  That's 
her  business,'  says  I,  'mine  was  to  tak'  her  oot.'  He 
questioned  me  had  she  been  drinking.  c  Like  eneuch,' 
says  I,  '  but  I  couldna  say.'  He  questioned  me,  and 
questioned  me ;  but  I  pit  the  collar  on,  ye  ken.  I 
behooved  to  clear  the  wife  a'  I  could.  I  didna  lee 
neither;  but  I  was  afflickit  wi'  a  sooden  obleevion  o' 
sma'  parteeculars,  haw  !  haw  !  I  dinna  think  muckle  o' 
yon  carle.  He  had  a  rare  gude  wife ;  they  a'  said  so, 
and  whaur  was  the  sense  o'  him  diving  into  her  past  life, 
to  stir  the  mud  ?  " 

Passing  over  an  easy  job  or  two,  and  a  few  melancholy 
cases  in  which  he  had  dived  and  groped  the  river,  and 
restored  dead  bodies  to  their  friends,  I  come  now  to  a 
passage,  which  but  for  its  truth  I  should  hesitate  to 


158 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


relate  exactly  as  he  told  it  me ;  but,  if  I  were  to  yield 
to  squeamishness  and  slur  it,  a  chapter  of  human  nature, 
revealed  to  me,  would  by  me  be  meanly  carried  to  my 
grave  and  hidden  from  the  scholars  of  other  ages  and 
nations. 

Thus,  then,  it  was  :  James  Lambert  was  bathing  in 
the  Clyde  one  evening  at  the  hour  when  it  was  allowed 
at  that  epoch. 

Suddenly,  Mrs.  Cooper,  that  kept  the  Society's  house, 
cried  to  him  over  the  window,  "  Kin,  Jamie  Lambert, 
there  is  a  laddie  in  the  water." 

Up  ran  James  Lambert,  but  the  boy  had  sunk.  A 
bystander  directed  him  to  the  place  ;  but  it  is  not  so 
easy  to  mark  the  exact  spot  where  a  body  has  dis- 
appeared in  the  water ;  and  James  Lambert  dived  twice, 
and  came  up  without  the  child.  He  dived  a  third  time, 
and  groped  along  the  bottom.  He  was  down  so  long 
that  the  cry  got  up  he  was  drowned  too.  Others  scouted 
the  idea.  James  Lambert  drown  !  They  had  known 
him  cross  the  Clyde,  under  the  water,  from  bank  to 
bank.  Some  time  having  elapsed  since  the  first  alarm, 
people  had  poured  across  the  green,  and  down  the  banks, 
and  there  was  quite  a  crowd  there  murmuring  and 
gazing,  when  up  came  James  Lambert,  panting,  with 
the  child  in  his  arms. 

There  was  a  roar  of  exultation  at  the  sight,  but 
James  Lambert  did  not  hear  it,  and  did  not  see  the 
crowd.  (Take  note  of  that  fact.)  His  whole  soul  was 
in  the  lovely  boy,  that  lay  white  and  inanimate  in  his 
arms.    He  ran  into  the  house,  uttering  cries  of  concern. 

"  But  when  I  got  him  in  the  hoose,  he  opens  ae  eye  on 
me  —  like  a  bonny  blue  bead  it  was.  Eh  !  I  was  happy  ; 
I  was  happy.  I  gied  the  bonny  bairn  a  kiss  and  hands 
him  to  the  wife,  and  orders  her  to  the  fire  wi'  him. 
Then  I'm  going  oot,  when  a'  of  a  soodden  I  find  I  haena 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


159 


a  steek  on  me,  and  twa  hundred  folk  about  the  door. 
Wad  ye  believe  it,  wi>  the  great  excitement  I  never  knew 
1  was  nakit,  till  I  saw  the  folk,  and  bethought  me.  I 
rins  back  again,  and  at  the  stair-foot,  there's  a  bundle  o' 
linen.  I  was  na  lang  happing  mysel',  I  can  tell  ye,  and 
oot  I  comes  as  bold  as  brass,  in  the  wife's  apron  and  a 
muckle  sheet.  The  sight  o'  me  made  the  lasses  scairt 
and  skirl  P;  for  I  was  like  a  corp  just  poppit  oot  o'  the 
grave.  I  went  for  my  clothes,  and — they  were  away. 
My  bluid  gat  up  at  that,  and  I  chackit  them  sair. 
'Hech,'  says  I,  'ye  maun  be  a  cauld-hairted  set  o' 
thieves,'  says  I,  'to  tak'  my  very  claes,  when  I  was 
doing  a  mon's  pairt.'  Bymby?  I  sees  a  young  leddy 
in  a  silk  gown,  wagging  on  me  r,  and  she  points  to  a 
hedge  near  by.  So  I  went,  and  there  were  my  claes. 
She  hed  put  them  aside  for  me,  ye  ken,  and  keepit  her 
ee  on  them.  Wasna  that  thouchtful  o'  her  noo  ?  " 
"  It  was,  indeed." 

"  Aweel,  sirr,  I  got  my  things  on  at  the  hedge,  an'  tied 
up  the  wife's  bundle,  and  cam'  forrud  :  and  by  this  time 
the  folk  was  dispairsed  like.  But  the  same  young  leddy 
was  walking  to  and  fra,  with  her  een  doon,  reflecking 
like.  She  wagged  on  me,  and  I  came  to  her.  So  she 
askit  me  who  I  was,  and  I  tell't  her  I  was  a  cotton- 
spinner,  and  they  caed  me  James  Lambert.  So  she 
lookit  at  me  full,  and  says  she,  'James,  are  ye  mar- 
ried?7—  'Oh,  yes,  ma'am,'  says  I, 'this  three  years.' 
So  she  lookit  me  all  over,  in  a  vara  curious  way  ;  and  she 
says  saftly,  '  James  —  it  is  —  a  —  great  —  pity  —  yere 
married  —  for  yere  a  vara  —  gallant  —  man.'  So  ye  see, 
sirr,  I  could  hae  had  a  young  leddy —  for  her  ee  tell't  me 
mair  nor  her  words  —  if  I  had  na  had  the  wife.  But 
then  I'd  no  hae  had  the  wife.  So  it  comes  a'  to  the 
same  thing." 

I  stared  at  him  with  surprise,  for  to  me  it  did  not 


160 


A  HEKO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


seem  quite  the  same  thing  to  marry  high  sympathy, 
swift  intelligence,  and  plenty  of  money,  and  to  marry 
poverty  plus  grovelling  mediocrity.  However,  it  was 
not  for  me  to  satirize  conjugal  affection  and  its  amiable 
delusions.  But  I  proposed  the  young  lady's  health,  and 
we  drank  it  cordially. 

By  this  time  I  conclude  I  have  so  spoiled  the  readers 
of  James  Lambert,  that  they  will  care  for  no  passage  of 
his  extraordinary  career  that  does  not  offer  some  new 
feature.  So  I  go  from  water  to  the  double  peril  of  ice 
and  water  at  the  freezing  point. 

"  It  was  a  hard  winter  ;  and  I  had  chairge  o'  the  gen- 
tlemen belonging  to  the  skating  club.  So  I  had  to  go  to 
Hugginfield  Loch.  But  I  was  clean  wastit  there.  I  was 
armed  wi'  ladders  an'  ropes,  and  corks.  Mon,  ony  fule 
can  stand  and  fling  gear  till  a  drooning  body.  And  I 
gat  an  awf u'  affront  intil  the  bargain  ;  they  castit  in  my 
teeth  that  I  was  partial,  and  saved  the  rich  afore  the 
poor.  Noo  I  let  naebody  droon,  but  my  bargain  was  with 
the  club  to  save  them  first ;  so  I  behooved  to  keep  to  the 
contract.  Aweel  then,  I  did  nae  execution  worth  speak- 
ing o' ;  the  thing  I'm  coming  tae  was  at  the  bend  of  the 
Clyde,  they  ca'  'the  peat  bog.'  A  number  was  skating 
on  the  river,  and  the  ice  began  to  heave  an'  shake  wi'  the 
high  tide.  So  I  chased  all  the  boys  aff  wi'  my  belt,  and 
warned  the  men  :  but  some  folk  winna  be  warned  by  me. 
The  ice  breaks  under  a  laboring  man,  and  in  he  goes,  and 
the  tide  sucked  him  under  in  a  moment.  I  ran  to  the 
place  as  fast  as  I  could,  and  under  the  ice  after  him. 
Aweel,  I  soomed,  and  soomed,  and  did  na  catch  him.  I 
soomed,  and  soomed,  ay,  hoping  to  find  him,  till  I  had 
nae  chance  to  come  back  alive  if  I  did  na  turn.  But, 
just  as  I  turned,  my  feet  struck  him.  Then  my  hairt 
got  up  again,  and  I  grippit  him,  and  I  dragged  him  back 
wi'  me,  and  soomed  and  soomed  for  my  ain  life  the  noo, 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


161 


as  weel  as  his.  Eh,  mon,  I  was  amaist  gane.  But  I 
wadna  lose  him.  'Twas  baith  live,  or  baith  dee.  Fm 
just  givin'  in,  when  I  see  the  light  o'  the  hole,  and  mak' 
for't,  and  get  him  oot  and  on  to  the  ice,  and  dizna  it 
keep  breaking  direckly  with  the  pair  o'  us,  and  sae  we 
go  floonderin'  and  smashing,  till  we  are  helpit  ashore. 
~Noo  PU  tell  ye  a  farce.  I'm  haulding  the  chiel  prisoner 
by  the  collar,  and  shaking  t'other  neif5  at  them  a'. 
Ye  ken  I  wanted  to  fleicht  on  them,  for  saying  I  riskit 
myself  mair  for  the  rich  than  the  puir.  But  a'  I  could 
say  was,  t  Wow  —  wow  —  wow ; '  the  brethe  wadna  come 
bock  to  my  body.  And  while  I  was  i  wow  —  wow  — 
wowing '  at  them,  and  gripin'  my  coptive  like  a  molly- 
factor,  dizna  he  turn  roond  and  thank  me  in  a  brief 
discoorse  vara  ceevil.  Eh,  mon,  I  glowered  at  him ;  I 
loosed  him,  an'  rolled  away  backards  to  glowe  r  at  him. 
He  could  hae  repeated  his  catecheesm,  and  I  could  only 
baash  an'  blather.  The  man  was  a  better  man  than  me ; 
for  he  had  been  langer  in.  Oh,  I  declared  that  on  the 
bank,  sune  as  ever  I  could  speak." 

I  come  now  to  the  crowning  feat  of  this  philanthropic 
and  adventurous  life  ;  and  I  doubt  my  power  to  describe 
it.  I  halt  before  it,  like  one  that  feels  weak,  and  a 
mountain  to  climb ;  for  such  a  feat,  I  believe,  was  never 
done  in  the  water  by  mortal  man,  nor  ever  will  again 
while  earth  shall  last. 

James  Lambert  worked  in  Somerville's  mill.  Like 
most  of  the  hands,  he  must  cross  the  water  to  get  home. 
For  that  purpose,  a  small  ferry-boat  was  provided  ;  it  lay 
at  a  little  quay  near  the  mill.  One  Andrew  had  charge 
of  it  ashore,  and  used  to  shove  it  off  with  a  lever,  and 
receive  it  on  its  return.  He  often  let  more  people  go  into 
it  than  Lambert  thought  safe,  and  Lambert  had  remon- 
strated, and  had  even  said,  "  Ye'll  hae  an  Occident  some 
day  that  ye'll  rue  but  ance,  and  that  will  be  a'  your 


162 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


life."  Andrew,  in  reply,  told  him  to  mind  his  own 
business. 

Well,  one  evening  James  Lambert  wanted  to  get 
away  in  the  first  boat-load.  This  was  somehow  con- 
nected with  his  having  bought  a  new  hat :  perhaps  he 
wished  to  avoid  the  crowd  of  workpeople  —  here  I  am 
not  very  clear.  However,  he  watched  the  great  wheel, 
and  the  moment  it  began  to  waver,  previous  to  stopping, 
he  ran  for  his  hat,  and  darted  down  the  stairs.  But,  as 
he  worked  in  an  upper  story,  full  a  dozen  got  into  the 
boat  before  him.  He  told  Andrew  to  put  off,  but 
Andrew  would  not  till  the  boat  should  be  full ;  and  soon 
it  was  crammed.  James  Lambert  then  said  it  was  a 
shame  of  him  to  let  so  many  on  board.  This  angered 
the  man,  and,  when  the  boat  was  so  crowded  that  her 
gunwale  was  not  far  above  water,  he  shoved  her  vio- 
lently off  into  the  tideway,  and  said  words  which,  if  he 
has  not  prayed  God  to  forgive  them  in  this  world,  will 
perhaps  hang  heavy  round  his  neck  in  the  next. 

"To  hell  —  ye  beggars  !"  he  cried. 

This  rough  launching  made  the  overladen  boat  wobble. 
The  women  got  frightened,  and  before  the  boat  had  gone 
twenty  yards  she  upset  in  dark,  icy  water,  ten  feet  deep. 

It  was  night. 

"  Before  the  boat  coupit  t  athegither,  they  a'  flew  to 
me  that  could :  for  they  a'  kenned  me.  F  the  water, 
them  that  hadna  a  baud  o'  me,  had  a  haud  o'  them  that 
had  a  haud  o'  me,  and  they  carried  me  doon  like  leed." 

Now  it  is  an  old  saying,  and  a  true  one,  that  "After- 
wit  is  everybody's  wit."  Were  I  to  relate  at  once  what 
James  Lambert  accomplished,  hundreds  would  imagine 
they  could  have  done  the  same.  To  correct  that  self- 
deception,  and  make  men  appreciate  this  hero  correctly, 
I  shall  stop  here,  and  entreat  my  readers,  for  the  in- 
struction of  their  own  minds,  to  lay  down  this  narra- 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


163 


tive  and  shut  their  eyes,  and  ask  themselves  how  it  was 
possible  for  mortal  man  to  escape  drowning  himself,  and 
to  save  those  who  were  drowning  him.  You  have  seen 
that  it  cost  him  the  skin  of  his  finger  to  get  clear  of  a 
single  baker.  Here  he  was  clutched  and  pinned  by  at 
least  four  desperate  drowning  creatures,  strong  as  lions 
in  their  wild  despair,  and  the  weight  of  twelve  people 
more  hanging  on  to  those  that  clutched  him,  so  that  the 
united  weight  of  them  all  carried  down  the  strong 
swimmer,  like  a  statue  in  a  sack. 

"  Sirr,  when  yeve  twa  feet  i'  the  grave,  your  mind 
warks  hard.  I  didna  struggle,  for  it  was  nae  mair  use 
than  to  wrastle  wi'  a  kirk.  I  just  strauchtened  myself 
oot  like  a  corp  w,  and  let  them  tak'  me  doon  to  the  bot- 
tom o'  the  Clyde  ;  and  there  I  stood  upright,  an'  waited ; 
for  I  kenned  the  puir  sauls  would  droon  afore  me,  and  I 
saw  just  a  wee  wee  chance  to  save  them  yet.  Ye  shall 
understond,  sirr,  that  when  folk  are  drooning,  they 
dinna  settle  doon  till  the  water  fills  their  lungs  and 
drives  the  air  oot.  At  first  they  waver  up  and  doon  at 
sairtain  intervals.  Aweel,  sirr,  I  waited  for  that,  on  the 
grund.  I  was  the  only  ane  grunded,  ye'll  obsairve.  A 
slight  upward  movement  commenced.  I  took  advantage, 
and  gied  a  vi'lent  spang  wi'  my  feet  against  the  bottom, 
and,  wi'  me  choosing  my  time,  up  we  a'  came.  My  arms 
were  grippit ;  but  I  could  strike  oot  wi'  my  feet,  and, 
before  ever  we  reached  the  surface,  I  lashed  oot 
like  a  deevil,  for  the  quay.  Aweel,  sirr,  wi'  all  I  could 
do,  we  didna  wend  abune  a  yard,  or  maybe  a  yard  an  a 
hauf,  and  doon  they  carried  me  like  leed.  I  straucht- 
ened myself  as  we  sank,  and  I  grunded.  The  lave 
were  a'  roond  me  like  a  fon  v.  I  bides  my  time,  and, 
when  they  are  inclining  upward,  I  strikes  fra  the  grund ; 
an'  this  time,  mair  slanting  towards  the  quay.  That 
helpit  us,  and  in  a  dozen  vi'lent  strokes  we  maybe 


164 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


gained  twa  yards  this  time.  Then  doon  like  leed. 
Plays  the  same  game  again,  up,  and  doon  again.  And 
noo,  sirr,  there  was  something  that  turned  sair  against 
us ;  but  then  there  was  something  for  us  to  bollance  it. 
It  was  against  us  that  they  had  all  swallowed  their  pint 
o'  water  by  this  time,  and  were  na  sae  buoyant :  it  was 
for  us  that  the  water  was  shallower  noo,  maybe  not  mair 
than  twa  feet  ower  heed.  Noo  this  twa  feet  wad  droon 
us  as  weel  as  twanty ;  but  wi'  nae  mair  nor  twa  feet 
water  abune  us,  I  could  spring  up  fra  the  grun  by  mere 
force,  for  the  grun  gies  ye  an  awfu'  poower  for  a  foot  or 
twa.  Sae  noo  I'm  nae  suner  doon  than  up  again,  and 
still  creeping  for  the  quay,  and  the  water  aye  a  wee  bit 
shallower.  The  next  news  is,  I  gat  sair  spent,  and  that 
was  bad :  but,  to  bollance  that,  some  folk  on  the  quay 
gat  rapes  and  boat-hooks,  and  pickit  off  ane  or  twa  that 
was  the  nearest :  and  now  ilka  time  I  cam'  up,  they 
pickit  ane  off,  and  that  lightened  my  burden ;  and 
bymby  I  drave  a  couple  into  shallow  water  myseP  wi' 
my  feet.  When  I  was  in  seven  fut  water  mysel',  and 
fewer  folk  hauding  me  doon,  I  got  to  be  maister,  and 
shovit  ane,  and  pu'd  anither  in,  till  we  landed  the  whole 
saxteen  or  seventeen.  But  my  wark  was  na  done,  for  I 
kenned  there  were  mair  in  the  river.  I  saw  the  last  o' 
my  ain  band  safe,  then  oot  into  the  Clyde,  wherever  I 
heerd  cries,  and  sune  I  fand  twa  lasses  skirling,  takes 
'em  by  their  lang  hair,  -and  tows  them  to  the  quay  in  a 
minute.  Just  as  I'm  landing  thir  w  twa,  I  hear  a  cry  in 
the  vara  middle  o'  the  river,  and  in  I  splash.  It  was  a 
strapping  lass  —  they  caed  her  Elizabeth  Whitelaw. 
'  C'way,  ye  lang  daftie,'  says  I,  and  begins  to  tow  her. 
Lo  an'  behold  !  I'm  grippit  wi'  a  man  under  the  water. 
It  was  her  sweethairt.  She  was  hauding  him  doon. 
The  hizzy  was  a'reicht,  but  she  was  drooning  the  lad : 
pairts  these*  twa  lovers  —  for  their  gude  —  and  taks 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


165 


'em  ashore,  one  in  each  hand.  Aweel,  sirr,  I  saved  just 
ane  mair,  and  then  I  plunged  in  again,  and  sairched ; 
but  thir  was  nae  mair  to  be  seen  noo :  three  puir  lasses 
were  drooned :  but  I  did  na  ken  that  at  the  time.  And 
noo  I'll  tell  ye  a  farce.  I'm  seized  wi'  a  faintness,  and 
maks  for  the  shore.  But  I  gat  weaker,  and  dazed  like, 
and  the  lights  o'  Glasgow  begins  to  flecker  afore  my 
een :  and  thinks  I,  '  I'll  no  see  ye  again ;  I'm  done  this 
time.'  It  was  all  I  could  do  for  the  bare  life,  to  drift  to 
the  hinder  part  of  the  quay.  I  hadna  the  power  to 
draw  mysel'  oot.  I  just  grippit  the  quay,  and  sobbit. 
The  folk  were  a'  busy  with  them  I  had  saved  ;  nane  of 
them  noticed  me,  and  I  would  ha'  been  drooned  that 
nicht :  —  but  wha  d'ye  think  saved  me  that  had  saved 
sae  mony  ?  —  an  auld  decrepit  man :  haw,  haw,  haw  ! 
He  had  a  hookit  stick,  and  gied  me  the  handle,  and 
towed  me  along  the  quay  into  shallow  water,  and  I  gat 
oot,  wi'  his  help,  and  swooned  deed  away.  I'm  tauld  I 
lay  there  negleckit  awhile ;  but  they  fand  me  at  last,  and 
then  I  had  fifty  nurses  for  ane." 

Have  I  exaggerated  ?  Does  history  record  any  other 
example  of  a  man  being  clutched  by  a  great  number  of 
drowning  people,  and  carried  to  the  bottom,  and  saving 
them  all  in  the  lump,  and  then  dashing  in  and  saving 
the  outsiders  in  detail  ? 

By  way  of  illustration  let  the  reader  imagine  an  um- 
brella-frame, and  only  four  or  five  curved  whalebones 
attached  to  the  top  part  of  the  upright :  now  fasten 
several  other  curved  whalebones,  high  up,  to  each  of 
those  four  or  five  curves.  Now  plunge  the  whole  frame 
into  water  till  the  upright  touches  the  ground.  Not  one 
of  the  sixteen  curved  pieces  will  touch  the  ground. 
But,  in  the  water,  if  a  person,  male  or  female,  clings  to  a 
fixed  upright,  that  person's  body  floats  up,  more  or  less  • 
at  all  events,  it  inclines  towards  the  horizontal. 
25 


166 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


Now  James  Lambert,  by  artificially  straightening  his 
body,  made  himself  the  stick  of  that  human  umbrella, 
or  the  upright  post  they  all  clung  to  directly  or  indirectly, 
and  so  were  kept  floating  in  a  curve,  instead  of  sinking 
to  the  bottom.  This  enabled  him,  but  only  by  patiently 
and  artfully  watching  the  fluctuations  up  and  down  of 
those  floating  bodies,  to  spring  at  the  nick  of  time  from 
the  hard  ground,  and  carry  them  all  to  the  surface  for  a 
few  seconds.  The  rest  is  detail,  and  his  own  narrative 
makes  it  clear.  But  see  what  intellectual  and  moral 
qualities  are  here  combined.  Genius  is  often  without 
courage  ;  courage  is  generally  without  genius,  and  so 
indeed  is  bare  skill ;  and,  in  desperate  danger,  how  often 
has  genius  lost  its  head,  and  blundered  like  an  idiot ; 
how  often  has  courage  lacked  invention,  and  relied  on 
precedent,  that  did  not  fit  the  novel  danger,  and  so  led  it 
to  death.  But  this  man,  even  as  his  body  touched  the 
water,  was  all  cool  courage  and  swift  inventive  genius. 
He  did  not  repeat  himself  as  mere  skill  does.  Hugged 
in  the  water  by  a  single  man  —  the  baker  —  he  hit,  with 
prompt  invention,  on  the  one  way  to  save  both  lives ;  he 
used  the  baker's  own  chest  as  a  fulcrum,  and  so  tore 
himself  free.  But  clutched  by  a  dozen,  and  more,  he 
never  attempted  to  get  free  at  all,  but  straightened  and 
stiffened  himself  into  an  upright  post,  and  used  the 
ground  as  his  fulcrum,  to  save  himself  and  those  who 
were  drowning  themselves  and  him. 

I  come,  now,  to  the  sad  ending  of  all  these  glorious 
deeds. 

James  Lambert  was  up  the  river  working,  but  at  what 
business  I  forget.  An  engineer  fell  into  the  water,  and 
sank  for  the  last  time,  before  James  could  get  to  the 
place. 

Following  the  direction  of  persons  on  the  bank,  he 
flung  himself  from  a  bridge,  and  dived  for  the  man. 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


167 


But  the  others  had  not  marked  the  place  precisely, 
and  when,  after  repeated  efforts,  he  brought  the  man 
to  land,  life  was  gone  forever.  To  use  his  own  words, 
"  It  was  a  dear  jump.  He  lost  his  life,  and  I  lost  my 
sight." 

It  was  winter,  and  he  was  perspiring  freely  when  he 
jumped  into  the  icy  water. 

Very  soon  after,  a  great  dazzling  seized  him,  followed 
by  darkness.  It  cleared  after  a  time,  and  he  saw  again. 
But  the  same  thing  occurred  at  intervals ;  and,  by  de- 
grees, the  attacks  came  oftener,  and  remained  longer, 
until  at  last  the  darkness  settled  down,  and  the  light 
fled  forever. 

Think  of  it.  This  twenty  years  he  can  no  longer  see 
the  " Dominie's  Hole,"  nor  "the  three  stanes,"  nor  "the 
peat  bog,"  nor  "the  dead-house,"  nor  the  Clyde  itself, 
where  every  bend  is  the  scene  of  some  great  good  feat 
he  did.  More  than  fourscore  eyes  he  rescued  from  the 
darkness  of  the  grave  ;  yet  unjust  fate  and  dire  calamity 
have  not  left  him  one  poor  orb  to  see  the  blessed  day 
and  the  faces  of  those  he  has  saved. 

Now  turn  back  to  the  story  repeated  from  the  Glasgow 
Times,  and  surely  you  will  say  that  it  was  a  rare,  and 
noble,  and  poetic  distress,  and  worthy  to  be  sung  by 
some  great  poet. 

I  am  no  poet,  and  cannot  adorn  so  strong  a  tale  ; 
therefore  I  have  aimed  at  that  which  all  honest  men  can 
attain,  if  they  will  but  take  trouble ;  viz.,  the  exact 
truth.  I  travelled  to  see  him.  I  stayed  in  Glasgow 
many  days  to  know  him.  I  took  him  down  to  the  Clyde, 
and  verified  every  spot,  and  got  him  to  tell  me  each 
principal  incident  over  again,  at  its  own  site,  and  I 
noted  down  his  very  words,  as  well  as  I  could. 

The  next  thing  was  to  rescue  his  features  from  obliv- 
ion.   I  asked  him  to  meet  me  at  the  photographer's. 


168 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


He  did  so,  but,  horrible  to  relate,  dressed  as  all  Scotch- 
men dress  on  Sundays. 

u  James,"  said  I,  severely,  "  was  it  in  this  clerical  suit 
you  saved  so  many  lives  ?  " 

"No  likely,"  said  he;  "except  yon  carle  that  was 
bathing  o'  the  sabba'  day.  Mod,  I  was  for  coming  in 
my  auld  claes  that  I  wrought  at  the  mill  yon  time :  but 
the  wife  cried  shame  ;  she  wadna  let  me." 

Observe  how  devoid  of  common-sense  is  common- 
sense,  the  moment  it  meddles  with  the  things  of 
genius.  So  I  sent  him  back  for  his  old  clothes,  and  I 
now  present  you  not  indeed  the  hero  himself,  but  his 
true  wreck.  The  picture  will  mislead  you,  unless  you 
allow  for  that  sad  misrepresentation  of  the  manly 
mouth  which  takes  place  when  a  hero  loses  his  front 
teeth.  Observe  the  thin  straight  lips,  and  the  strong 
chin:  those  lips,  when  the  teeth  were  behind  them, 
marked  iron  resolution.  Add  to  the  straight,  thin,  Amer- 
ican mouth,  an  eye  full  of  fire ;  and,  by  the  wreck,  you 
may  divine  the  man. 

OBSERVATIONS. 

James  Lambert  is  of  ordinary  size,  but  very  clean- 
built  and  wiry.  The  signs  of  great  activity  still  linger 
about  him.  The  easy  attitude  in  which  I  first  saw  him 
was  that  of  a  man  who  could  spring  across  the  room  in 
a  moment  from  where  he  stood. 

In  manner  he  is  two  men  ;  sometimes  grave,  slow,  and 
thoughtful ;  sometimes  fiery  and  vivacious ;  and  the 
changes  are  well  timed;  for  he  relates  his  feats  with 
French  vivacity,  but  makes  his  reflections  in  a  slow, 
thoughtful  way  that  is  Scotch  all  over.  It  is  just  pos- 
sible that  "  race  "  may  have  a  hand  in  his  vivacious  half, 
for  he  admits  a  French  progenitor,  and  "  Lambert  "  is  a 
French  name. 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


169 


I  have  not  known  him  long  enough  to  draw  his  whole 
character ;  but  to  what  is  revealed  in  his  recorded  acts 
I  can  add  one  trait ;  he  is  a  man  without  bile.  I  offer 
one  example :  after  describing  with  great  spirit  how  he 
saved  a  respectable  acquaintance,  he  told  me  that  the 
said  individual  had  afterwards  avoided  him;  and  then 
he  stopped  and  went  in  a  moment  from  his  French 
manner  to  his  Scotch. 

"  And  —  I  hae  —  obsairved,  sirr,  that  the  mair  part  — 
of  them  I  hae  saved  —  shuns  me." 

Straight  I  exploded  with  ire  at  their  baseness.  But 
I  could  not  convey  my  spleen  into  this  heroic  bosom 
void  of  bile. 

"  Na,  sirr,"  said  he,  with  the  same  measured  thought- 
fulness,  "  I  just  — -  think  —  it  is  ower  great  —  a  debt  — 
to  awe  to  ony  man ;  and  they  feel  it  a  burrden." 

Almost  any  other  man,  finding,  in  a  certain  base 
biped,  vanity  too  strong  for  gratitude,  would  have  vented 
the  discovery  in  tones,  either  of  wrath,  or  of  piteous 
complaint ;  but  this  man  sounded  like  a  patient,  inquir- 
ing philosopher :  certainly  a  faint  tone  of  regret  pierced 
through,  but  no  more  than  became,  a  philosopher,  gently 
disappointed  in  mankind.  To  me,  who  have  seen  so 
much  storming  and  blubbering  over  trifles,  this  thought- 
ful, uncomplaining  dignity  was  as  pathetic  as  it  was 
noble. 

If  the  man  seems  egotistical,  his  discourse  being  all 
about  himself,  you  must  remember  that  I  kept  drawing 
him  out,  and  that  the  true  balance  of  the  dialogue  is 
not  presented,  since  I  have  suppressed  the  greater  part 
of  my  questions,  as  not  worth  printing. 

I  ought  also  to  tell  you  that  his  manner  of  relating 
his  exploits  had  no  touch  of  vanity,  nor  boasting,  nor 
self-gratulation.  It  was  a  thing  both  strange  and  fine 
to  see  how  he  was  carried  away  out  of  the  dark  present 


170 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


into  those  glowing  scenes,  re-lighted  by  the  sun  of 
memory.  As  he  related,  the  whole  man  quivered  with 
excitement.  When  he  was  telling  me  how  he  dived  for 
the  little  boy  opposite  "the  dead-house,"  I  took  his 
hand,  and  —  under  cover  of  sympathy,  being  a  prying 
scoundrel  —  I  furtively  felt  his  pulse.  It  was  beating 
about  one  hundred  and  ten  to  the  minute  ;  his  heart  was 
once  more  doing  tlie  deed,  and  his  poor  blind  face  shone 
with  angelic  goodness,  and  gleamed  with  heroic  fire. 

This  hero  and  martyr  has  a  foible,  not  an  uncommon 
one  in  Glasgow ;  but  still  a  sad  fault.  He  is  too  fond 
of  whiskey  —  much. 

Bookmakers'  morality  will  say,  "  Why  reveal  the 
infirmity  of  such  a  man  ?  n  I'll  tell  you ;  because  in 
less  than  two  hundred  years  the  first  stone  of  honesty 
in  biography  will  have  to  be  laid ;  so,  not  to  waste  the 
world's  time,  I  lay  it  now. 

Since,  in  this  best  of  all  possible  worlds,  much  is 
done  for  moderately  good  killers  of  men,  you  may  be 
curious  to  know  what  man  has  done  for  this  incompar- 
able saver  of  men. 

He  has  earned  the  gold  medal  of  the  Humane  Society 
twice,  and  the  silver  about  twelve  times. 

He  has  never  received  either. 

He  better  deserves  every  order  and  decoration  the 
state  or  the  sovereign  can  bestow,  than  does  any  gentle- 
man or  nobleman  in  this  land,  whose  bosom  is  a  constel- 
lation. Yet  not  a  cross  nor  a  ribbon  has  ascended  from 
the  vulgar  levels,  where  they  grow  like  buttercups,  to 
the  breast  of  this  immortal  hero.  And  why  ?  he  is  but 
a  saver  of  men,  not  a  killer  ;  he  is  only  a  Christian 
hero ;  and,  in  the  distribution  of  glory,  the  world,  in- 
cluding the  very  preachers  of  the  gospel,  is  as  rank  a 
heathen  as  ever  in  spite  of  Christ ;  and  a  fool  in  spite 
of  Voltaire. 


A  OTRO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


171 


The  one  public  honor  paid  him  is  this.  —  A  suspension 
bridge  has  been  built  over  the  Clyde  where  he  saved 
more  than  twenty  lives  that  one  dark  night ;  and  over 
this  bridge  two  men  pass  gratis  till  they  die ;  Bailie 
Harvey  and  Hero  Lambert.  The  rest  of  mankind  pays 
a  halfpenny. 

So  much  for  his  decorations.  Then  for  his  pensions. 
He  has  but  one ;  and  that  is  local,  not  imperial,  though 
the  places  the  man  adorns  are  the  empire  and  the  world. 
The  Barony  Parish,  Glasgow,  allows  him  three  and  six- 
pence a  week.  But  he  was  earning  twenty-rive  to  thirty 
when  he  fell  blind.  So  that  his  local  allowance,  for 
benefits  to  mankind,  does  not  compensate  him  for  his 
calamity,  by  five-sixths ;  and  his  heroic  and  philan* 
thropic  feats  are  left  out  of  the  arithmetic  altogether. 

I  propose,  then,  to  those  who  govern  this  country, 
to  depart  from  the  stiff  precedents  of  savages,  and  to 
take  wider  and  more  enlightened  views  of  heroism,  be- 
ginning with  James  Lambert,  since  they  cannot  begin 
better.  They  have  the  example  of  France ;  she  bestows 
civic  honors  on  the  heroes  who  save,  as  well  as  on  the 
heroes  who  kill. 

I  propose  to  the  Humane  Society  to  bestow  their  gold 
medal.  Anything  less  would  be  no  compliment  to  this 
great  saver. 

As  for  the  English  public,  that  needs  no  spur.  When 
this  narrative  appears  in  an  influential  journal,  hundreds 
will  desire  to  improve  James  Lambert's  condition.  The 
best  way  to  do  that  would  be  to  secure  him  a  fixed  and 
large  increase  of  income  for  the  few  years  he  has  to 
live.  It  is  out  of  my  way,  but  in  this  one  case  I  would 
receive  and  acknowledge  donations  with  this  object. 

But  I  also  wish  to  procure  him  the  blessed  boon  of 
personal  sympathy.  I  will  not  encourage  a  raid  of 
staring  dunces,   pragmatical  charlatans,   and  gaping 


172 


A  HERO  AND  A  MARTYR. 


quidnuncs  ;  for  that  would  do  him  harm,  not  good.  But 
I  will  give  his  present  address  to  any  ladies  and  gentle- 
men who  may  be  able  and  willing  to  go  to  him  in  the 
right  spirit.  Any  such  superior  soul,  who  will  visit  him 
in  person,  and  with  gentle  hand  draw  him  awhile  from 
the  things  present,  which  he  cannot  see,  to  the  past, 
which  he  can  see,  will  mount  high  on  what  an  old  author 
calls  "  the  ladder  of  charity,'-'  for  this  will  be  a  charity 
in  a  very  refined  and  gracious  form ;  it  will  be  charity 
+  brains.  None  will  repent  such  a  visit:  though  his 
estate  is  humble,  he  is  one  of  nature's  gentlemen,  fit 
company  for  an  emperor ;  and  he  is  a  sight  better  worth 
seeing  than  half  the  public  shows ;  for  he  is  a  man 
without  his  fellow. 


GLOSSARY. 


a.  Cry  me  to  him,  i.e.,  Cry  right  —  left  —  etc.,  till  I  find  him. 

b.  The  lave—  The  rest, 
e.  Faitour  —  Feat. 

d.  Soom  —  Swim. 

e.  Gallant  —  A  boy. 

f.  Naepkin  —  Handkerchief.  English. 

g.  Lug —  Ear. 

h.  Twarree  —  Two  or  three. 

i.  Washing-bay,  or  bay ne — Tub.    French,  "  Bain." 
j.  Dour  —  Grim  —  severe.    Latin,  "  Durus." 

k.  A  wean  wastit  —  A  child  thrown  away. 
I.  Spate  —  Flood. 

m.  Win,  won,  etc.  —  Tenses  of  the  old  verb  "  wend"  —  to  go. 

Saxon, 
n.  Fleichting  —  Scolding. 

o.  Cummer  —  A  woman  of  the  people.  French,  "  Commere." 
p.  Scairt  and  skirl  —  Run  and  squeal.     Scairt  is  French 

"  Sortir." 
q.  Bymby  —  By  and  by. 
r.  Wagging  on  me  —  Beckoning  to  me. 
s.  1$e\i  —  Fist.  English, 
t.  Coupit  —  Upset, 
u.  Corp  —  Corpse, 
v.  Fon  —  Fan. 
w.  Thir—  These, 
x.  These  —  Those. 


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